MAEGAEET    PEECIVAL 

IN 

AMERICA: 

A   TALE. 
EDITED  BY  A  NEW  ENGLAND  MINISTER, 

A.  B. 

BEING    A    SEQUEL    TO 

MARGARET    PERCIVAL : 

A    TALE. 
EDITED     BY     KEV.     WILLIAM     SEWELL, 

B.  A. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  COMPANY. 
1850. 


lOAN  STACK 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 

By  PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  Co., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped    by 

HOBART    &    BOBBINS ; 

New  England  Type  and  Stereotype  Foundery, 

BOSTON. 


PREFACE. 


A  HOST  of  English  books,  called  "  Religious  Nov 
els,"  have  been  transplanted  into  this  country,  and 
reprinted,  "  without  note  or  comment." 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  have  done  our  young 
people  some  good.  But  it  is  certain  that,  in  our 
parish  and  Sabbath-school  libraries,  they  have  greatly 
puzzled  those  who  read,  by  their  obstinate  adherence 
to  close  sectarian  usages,  and  by  their  utter  ignorance 
of  the  generous  spirit  which  exists  in  America  between 
Christians  of  different  names. 

It  would  be  a  pity  if  our  young  friends  forgot,  that, 
as  Christians  here,  they  have  duties  and  opportuni 
ties  too  lofty  to  be  risked,  too  precious  to  be  thrown 
away,  by  the  accidental  suggestions  of  any  insular 
literature,  —  of  any  isolated  ecclesiastical  arrange 
ment. 

Indeed,  we  have  thought  it  a  pity  that  the  heroes 
and  heroines  of  these  novels  had  not  suspected  some 
thing  of  this,  themselves,   as  they  might  have  done, 
with  a  wider  field  for  their  religious  experience. 
}* 


VI  PREFACE. 

And  so  we  brought  Margaret  Percival  to  Fair- 
meadow,  to  enlarge  hers.  We  have  tried  to  do  this 
so  as  not  to  pain  her  especial  admirers.  We  felt  that, 
in  the  old  picture,  we  had  not  justice  done  us.  Now 
that  we  hold  the  paint-brush,  we  have  tried  to  serve 
them  better. 

We  are  sorry,  if  we  have  failed. 
CARROLL  COUNTY,  July,  1850. 


MARGARET  PERCIVAL  IN  AMERICA. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"I  HAVE  passed  a  most  quiet  Sunday.  The  day  has 
been  very  beautiful  and  peaceful.  I  sat  behind  the  house, 
beneath  the  horse-chestnut,  and  collected  our  favorite  books 
around  me,  and  everything  was  calm  and  lovely  there. 
I  wished  that  you  were  with  me ;  and,  indeed,  quite  pitied 
you,  Anna.  One's  quiet  thoughts  are  often  so  disturbed 
in  a  country  church,  or  in  any  church  !  Either  the  preacher 
is  irreverential,  or  the  people  are  more  so.  One's  next 
neighbor  goes  to  sleep,  or  the  child  in  the  pew  in  front 
makes  up  faces  at  one." 

"  I  assure  you,  none  of  these  things  disturbed  me  to 
day.  I,  all  the  time,  was  wishing  you  might  hear  Mr. 
Harrod's  sermon.  I  should  have  liked  to  talk  it  over 
with  you.  Then,  all  the  congregation  were  equally  inter 
ested,  and  listened  devoutly.  I  would  not  have  lost  the 
service,  for  many  hours  under  the  horse-chestnut  tree." 

"Perhaps,  Anna,  you  would  not  have  sympathized  in 
what  I  was  reading.  I  finished  Margaret  Percival ;  and  I  am 
only  more  desirous  to  know  something  about  her,  —  if  she 
were  a  real  person,  how  the  world  turned  out  with  her.  I 
have  brought  Margaret  Percival  with  me,  and  shall  insist 
upon  your  finishing  the  book,  during  my  visit  with  you." 

"  I  will  take  it  up  again,  for  your  sake.     I  was,  indeed, 


8  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

somewhat  interested  in  the  book.  But  I  cannot  believe 
Margaret  Percival  really  to  have  existed.  There  are  great 
inconsistencies  in  her  character.  I  was  very  much  inter 
ested  in  the  way  she  went  to  work  with  her  younger 
brothers  and  sisters — in  her  earnestness  in  regard  to  all  her 
duties.  Now,  I  could  not  reconcile  this  with  the  great 
weaknesses  she  is  supposed  to  show.  I  laid  down  the 
book  at  that  part  where  she  is  in  great  trouble  —  her 
father  just  dying,  and  the  family  suffering  under  many 
trials.  These  are  nothing  to  what  she  is  suffering  inwardly; 
for  she  is  going  through  great  spiritual  trouble  of  the  heart. 
It  seemed  to  me  very  unnatural,  that,  at  such  a  time,  her 
sorest  trouble  should  be,  what  words  of  prayer  she  should  use 
towards  God.  That  she  should  have  been  bowed  down  by 
doubt,  uncertainty,  arid  humility,  towards  God,  I  could 
understand.  But  that  then  she  should  puzzle  herself  as  to 
what  liturgy  she  should  use,  when  the  soul  must  needs 
prompt  the  words  of  that  first  of  Christian  prayers,  —  *  My 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner !  '" 

"  But,  Anna,  I  am  deeply  interested  in  Margaret.  Her 
life  has  helped  to  arouse  me.  Beneath  the  chestnut-tree, 
to-day,  I  formed  many  resolutions,  such  as  no  church  ser 
vice  has  ever  awakened  in  me.  Tell  me,  do  you  not  think 
there  may  be  truer  worship,  truer  self-consecration,  in  such 
solitude,  than  in  the  most  lofty  church  ?" 

"  I  remember  feeling  this  most  strongly,  Gertrude,  at  one 
time,  when  I  wras  recovering  from  a  long  illness.  I  was  left 
at  home,  alone,  on  Sundays.  After  the  sound  had  died 
away  of  the  carriage  that  bore  my  father  and  mother  to 
church,  there  was  nothing  to  awaken  the  silence,  but  the 
distant  village  church-bells.  I  would  sit  at  my  quiet  win 
dow,  which  you  shall  soon  see,  and  learn  to  love.  I  read 
my  favorite  books.  It  was  then  I  acquired  my  passion  for 


IN   AMERICA.  9 

Fenelon.  It  was  then  I  read  some  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
Martineau's  sermons.  I  felt,  at  the  time,  that  I  never  before 
had  experienced  the  truly  holy  feeling  of  Sunday." 

"  It  is  in  such  a  way  I  would  like  to  pass  my  Sundays, 
in  solitary  devotion." 

"But  with  me,  Gertrude,  this  did  not  last.  In  a  few 
weeks  I  found  myself  taking  up  other  occupations  for  my 
Sundays.  I  began  by  copying  poetry  for  my  friends,  by 
writing  letters,  till  I  found  presently  there  was  growing  to 
be  very  little  difference  between  my  Sundays  and  my 
quieter  week-days. 

"Then  came  the  first  Sunday  that  1  could  bear  the 
fatigue  of  going  to  church.  As  we  passed  over  this  beautiful 
road  we  are  going  over  now,  my  mind  prepared  itself  for 
the  church  services.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  powerful  were 
the  devout  feelings  that  rose  up  within  me,  as  I  entered 
the  church.  Our  little  choir  seemed  to  offer  most  devo 
tional  strains  of  music.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  see  the  well- 
known  faces  again!  Even  the  half-quieted  glances  of  the 
children -had  something  angelic  in  them.  Then  the  minis 
ter's  voice  roused  me  again,  and  recalled  to  me  that  I  had 
been  in  danger  of  letting  my  spiritual  thoughts  slumber  and 
sleep  on  the  holy  day,  and  that  I  did  indeed  need  the  sug 
gestions  of  an  uttered  human  voice  to  awaken  me.  How 
beautiful  were  the  words  of  the  text  that  day,  — '  Where 
two  or  -three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  there  am  I 
in  the  midst  of  them.' " 

"  Your  quietness  before  had  brought  you  into  the  right 
mood  for  this  public  worship." 

"  I  believe  now  in  the  power,  and  the  necessity  too,  of 
creating  such  a  mood.  The  hour  before  church  cannot  be 
better  employed;  and  can  succeed  in  throwing  over  the 
dullest  of  preachers  an  air  of  earnestness,  that  touches  our 


10  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

hearts,  which,  in  the  church  where  our  thoughts  are  asso 
ciated  times  of  devotion,  are  easily  warmed. 

"I  am  sure,  also,"  added  Anna,  smiling,  "that  this 
effect  upon  me  was  not  merely  an  intellectual  effect,  pro 
duced  by  the  special  power  of  the  preacher.  For  it  was  one 
of  the  last  times  that  our  poor  Mr.  Pendexter  preached 
here. 

"  But,  Gertrude,  now  we  are  drawing  near  our  home,  and 
we  must  not  talk  too  earnestly  to  forget  to  look  at  our  beau 
tiful  landscape.  I  feel  that  it  begins  to  be  mine,  now.  We 
are  to  come  down  now  the  hill  we  have  been  so  long  wind 
ing  up  from  the  village.  See  how  abrupt  the  bank  is  at  our 
side !  Look  at  the  river,  flowing  rapidly  through  the 
meadows !  Those  dark,  forest-covered  mountains,  that  rise 
so  suddenly  from  the  edge  of  the  river,  will  seem  like  old 
friends,  before  you  have  been  with  us  long.  This  point  of 
land  stretching  into  the  river,  where,  as  you  will  presently 
see,  the  house  is  concealed,  hides  from  us  the  factory 
village." 

Anna  Wilkie  and  Gertrude  Ashton  were  seated  together 
in  the  back  seat  of  a  wagon,  winding  down  one  of  the  beau 
tiful  hills  that  almost  surrounded  Fairmeadow.  Gertrude 
was  recovering  from  a  long  illness;  arid  Anna,  with  her 
father  and  mother,  were  taking  her  to  their  home,  where 
she  might  feel  the  influence  of  the  bracing  mountain  air. 
They  had  stopped  for  Gertrude,  after  the  church  services  of 
the  day. 

The  young  people  would  have  been  surprised,  if  they  had 
known  that  one  subject  of  their  conversation  was,  at  the 
same  time,  on  the  lips  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilkie,  as  they  sat 
in  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage. 

Mr.  Wilkie  had  been  absent,  for  a  week  or  two,  when 
Mr.  Harrod  had  preached  at  Fairmeadow  before  ;  —  since 


IN   AMERICA.  11 

his  return,  Mr.  Harrod  had  been  away, -—and,  in  conse 
quence,  Mr.  "Wilkie  had,  till  to-day,  never  seen  this  new 
preacher,  who  was  to  supply  Mr.  Kavanagh's  place,  during 
his  European  journey.  He  and  his  wife  had  fallen,  on  this 
account,  into  a  conversation,  even  more  prolonged  and 
earnest  than  usual,  upon  the  service  of  the  day,  when,  in 
reply  to  something  which  he  said,  on  mutual  generosity 
between  Christians  of  various  forms,  his  wife  said, 

"  That  reminds  me  of  what  Mrs.  Brackett  told  me,  at 
home,  about  Margaret  Percival.  It  seems  she  is  a  real 
person,  after  all." 

"  Pray,  who  is  Margaret  Percival  ?  My  Sunday-school 
boys  have  been  talking  to  me,  for  months,  about  Margaret 
Percival ;  but  I  thought  it  was  a  book  —  a  novel." 

"  Did  you  not  notice  it,  when  Anna  was  reading  it?  It  is 
a  book.  Till  to-day,  I  have  always  supposed  it  a  fictitious 
work ;  for  there  are  some  marked  enough  inconsistencies  in 
character  in  it." 

Her  husband  laughed.  "  That  is  spoken  like  the  simple, 
unsuspicious  little  Anna  of  twenty-five  years  ago.  Some 
of  us  have  seen  enough  of  people  and  things,  since,  to  know 
that  some  very  inconsistent  characters  live,  and  move,  and 
breathe,  and  eat  dinner,  every  day. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  Margaret  Percival  and  her  difficul 
ties  have  taken  my  boys'  hearts  by  storm.  Was  not  she  a 
persecuted  Catholic  ? " 

"Not  at  all.  You  have  the  story  upside  down.  She 
was  a  member  of  the  English  established  church.  She 
fell  in  with  some  brilliant,  vivid  sort  of  people,  Catholics. 
They  tried  to  convert  her.  Meanwhile  the  poor  child  had 
some  terrible  experiences  at  home,  which  she  went  through 
bravely,  and  which  I  think  the  most  interesting  parts  of  her 
life." 


12  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  No  ?  And  did  they  convert  her  ?  —  these  Catholics,  — 
Roman  Catholics,  of  course,  you  mean." 

"  Almost,  but  not  quite.  Just  at  the  juncture,  —  that  is 
what  makes  it  seem  like  a  novel,  —  her  uncle  appears,  — 
quite  a  stalwart  knight,  in  his  way,  an  '  English  clergy 
man,'  and  drags  her  back  from  danger;  —  she  leaves  her 
friends  and  their  faith  forever." 

"  Then  it  is  a  book  of  argument,  aimed  against  authority 
in  matters  of  faith,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  more  interested. 

"  Why,  not  exactly ;  —  no,"  said  she,  hesitating.  "  You 
must  read  it  yourself.  It  is  aimed  at  the  Pope's  authority. 
When  I  thought  it  a  romance,  I  supposed  it  grew  out  of  the 
Newman  tendency  in  England.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
they  published  it  when  they  did.  It  brings  the  authority 
of  an  English  clergyman  against  that  of  a  Roman." 

"  Then  comes  the  tug  of  war." 

"  Yes ;  but  do  not  laugh.  Read  the  book,  and  I  know 
you  will  be  interested  in  it." 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  road,  after  its  steep  descent  from  the  hill-side,  took  its 
course  through  the  valley,  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  The 
mountain,  meanwhile,  receded  from  the  river,  leaving  be 
tween  a  broad  space  sufficiently  varied  with  valley  land  and 
higher  rocky  ground ;  this  was  occupied  by  Mr.  Wilkie's 
house  and  farm.  The  greatest  advantage  was  taken  of 
every  nook,  among  the  rocks  and  knolls,  for  cultivation, 
and  the  lower  land  showed  broad  fields  of  grain.  The 
house  stood  directly  under  the  mountain,  and  a  quiet  lane 
led  from  the  road,  towards  it,  through  the  thick  woods. 


IN    AMERICA.  13 

This  lane  wound  along  the  mountain,  among  the  forest 
trees,  and  the  wild-flowers  grew  fearlessly  on  each  side. 
-There  was  no  broad  view  from  the  house,  nor  from  Anna's 
favorite  porch,  which  opened  upon  a  small  garden  behind 
the  house.  Opposite,  rose  up  the  precipitous  side  of  the 
mountain,  and  the  little  garden  was  hemmed  in  by  shrub 
bery.  Anna  liked  it,  for  the  utter  quiet  that  reigned  there ; 
even  the  bee-hive  in  the  corner  sent  forth  a  lulling  sound, 
that  invited  repose.  She  found  it  a  place  where  she  might 
sit  and  read,  without  interruption  of  outward  exciting 
objects.  It  was  not  so  pleasing  to  Gertrude,  who  fancied 
the  silence  might  be  almost  oppressive,  if  one  sat  long  alone 
there. 

It  was  not  till  the  next  day,  in  the  evening,  that  Anna 
was  able  to  lead  Gertrude  to  her  other  favorite  place  of 
resort.  A  heavy  rain  had  compelled  them  to  stay  all  day 
in  the  house.*  They  had  amused  themselves  with  quiet 
occupations,  and  had  read  and  discussed  Gertrude's  favor 
ite  book,  Margaret  Percival.  But  now  the  clouds  were 
breaking  away,  and  Anna  and  Gertrude  hastened  to  clam 
ber  up  the  mountain  side,  to  see  the  glorious  sunset  which 
was  promised.  A  wild  path  led  upwards  from  the  foot  of 
the  garden,  through  bushes  and  briars,  to  a  bold  rock,  which 
was  shaded  by  an  old  cedar,  and  which  looked  forth  upon  a 
magnificent  view. 

One  scarcely  knew  whether  to  admire,  first,  the  bold 
mountain  ranges  that  rose  precipitously  from  the  opposite 
river-side,  or  the  river  itself  below,  winding  among  the 
green  meadows,  or  the  little  brook  that  hastened  to  meet  it. 
The  village  meeting-house  stood  high  among  the  hills ;  no 
one  ever  knew  how  it  could  geographically  get  into  this 
view ;  but  it  always  became  a  part  of  the  landscape,  in  these 
mountain  regions.  It  formed  a  contrast,  in  its  want  of 
2 


14  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

beauty,  to  the  scenery  around ;  but  one  was  soon  accustomed 
to  search  for  it,  and  love  it. 

The  farm  and  house  below  had  their  share  in  the  beauty 
of  the  landscape.  The  fields  of  grain  and  little  orchards 
scattered  among  the  rocky  knolls,  — the  quiet  activity  of  the 
farm-yard, — the  cattle  just  returned  home,  standing  in 
picturesque  groups,  —  all  these  formed  together  an  attract 
ive  scene  of  repose. 

"  I  am,  indeed,  very  grateful  for  this  beautiful  view,  Ger 
trude  ;  I  call  this  spot  sometimes  the  Mount  of  Thankfulness, 
that  I  may  remind  myself  to  be  sufficiently  thankful  for  this 
sky,  and  river,  and  mountain  view.  I  recall  to  myself,  here, 
the  longing  I  always  felt,  my  long  school  year,  when  I  was 
shut  up  in  Boston.  I  used  to  think,  then,  with  a  sort  of 
envy,  of  those  who  were  sufficiently  happy  to  live  amid  such 
scenes  as  this.  It  seemed  as  if  they  had  such  privileges, 
those 

'  —  hermits  blest  and  holy  maids, 

The  nearest  heaven  on  earth, 
Who  talk  with  God  in  shadowy  glades, 

Free  from  rude  care  and  mirth ! ' 

Do  you  remember  those  lines  of  Keble  ?  And  does  it  not 
seem  as  if  it  ought  to  be  true,  that  living  in  the  midst  of 
such  glorious  scenery  as  this  ought  to  elevate  one's  mind, 
and  purify  one's  feelings  ?  " 

"  One  grows  sadly  accustomed  to  all  such  beauty,  and 
forgets  to  be  grateful  for  such  daily  blessings." 

"  Then  it  would  be  only  necessary  to  be  shut  up  again, 
for  a  while,  in  a  city.  Such  a  longing  as  would  come  over 
me,  at  times,  to  see  a  broad  piece  of  sky !  It  was  so  discour 
aging  to  see  it  edged  and  hemmed  in  by  roofs  and  chimneys  ! 
Then,  day  after  day  would  follow  each  other,  rilled  with 
engrossing  cares  and  amusements,  that  seemed  to  shut  out 


IN   AMERICA. 


15 


all  thoughts  of  a  sky,  as  much  as  the  roofs  and  chimneys 
did.  When  I  suddenly  got  a  chance  at  a  glorious  sunset, 
how  it  seemed  to  wake  me  up  again !  And  when  the  spring 
breezes  came,  how  I  did  wish  for  a  glimpse  of  river  and 
mountain,  then !  I  am  afraid  I  could  never  reach  the  sub 
mission  and  resolution  of  Miss  Barrett.  Yet  I  have  always 
loved  those  beautiful  lines  of  hers  — 

'  I  will  have  hopes  that  cannot  fade, 

For  flowers  the  valley  yields ; 
I  will  have  humble  thoughts,  instead 

Of  quiet  dewy  fields ; 
My  spirit  and  my  God  shall  be 
My  seaward  hill,  my  boundless  sea.' 

I  have  lived  much,  Gertrude,  on  the  remembrance  of  this 
landscape." 

"  The  mountains  and  the  sea  give  me  a  similar  longing, 
a  desire  to  venture  out,  and  see  what  lies  beyond  them.  Did 
you  never  feel  an  ambition  to  climb  up  to  the  highest  of  that 
ridge  of  mountains,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and 
explore  the  country  that  must  lie  on  beyond  ? " 

"  O  yes,  I  have  not  only  longed,  but  have  tried  to  reach 
its  summit." 

"  But  what  lay  beyond,  and  how  could  you  ever  turn 
back?" 

"  I  ventured  up,  with  a  cousin,  a  little  older  than  myself. 
She  was  more  adventurous  than  I,  and  together  we  crossed 
the  river,  —  it  was  very  low  then, — on  the  stones.  We 
set  forth  in  the  morning,  and  took  our  basket  of  provisions. 
The  first  part  of  the  way,  we  dallied  very  much.  We  were 
very  vigorous  in  gathering  flowers,  and  we  stopped  to  pick 
berries;  and  in  one  place,  we  lingered  a  long  while,  to 
admire  a  beautiful  mushroom.  It  was  formed  like  a  peach, 
and  had  all  its  soft,  luscious  colors.  We  were  so  shut  in 


16  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

by  the  trees  as  to  be  able  to  tell  little  of  the  position  of  the 
sun,  except  that  we  discovered  when  it  was  high  noon,  and 
then  we  ate  our  dinner.  So  we  grew  quite  unconscious  of 
time,  but  clambered  on  higher  and  higher.  For  a  long  time 
we  followed  a  path  ;  but  this  grew  more  and  more  narrow, 
till  at  last  we  had  to  find  our  way  among  the  rocks  and 
underbrush.  Presently  it  began  to  grow  dark  in  our  thick 
woods ;  but  we  pushed  on,  that  we  might  reach  some  open 
ing,  that  we  might  see  what  our  position  might  be.  We 
calculated  we  must  have  travelled  some  miles  since  the 
morning.  I  began  to  grow  alarmed ;  the  idea  of  the  other 
world  behind  the  mountains  was  very  fearful  to  me,  and  I 
dreaded  almost  to  follow  Mary's  steps,  when  we  reached 
an  opening  among  the  trees,  and  she  led  forward  to  where 
we  heard  a  rushing  sound.  It  was  our  own  river ;  we  were 
on  that  rock  that  hangs  out  over  the  water  below,  almost 
directly  above  the  spot  where  we  had  set  forth  in  the  morn 
ing.  We  had  taken  a  long  circuit  among  the  woods,  and 
had  been  no  nearer  reaching  the  summit  of  Graypeak  than 
we  are  now.  I  was  never  more  rejoiced  than  to  see  the 
smoke  from  the  house  opposite.  We  sKouted,  till  Uncle 
Andrew,  in  the  meadows  below,  heard  us,  and  came  to  our 
rescue." 

"  Do  not  such  things  disappoint  you  ?  Don't  you  wish 
to  be  successful,  even  in  little  things ;  and  is  it  not  dis 
couraging  to  be  foiled,  even  in  little  efforts?  O,  how 
often  have  I  wished  I  might  accomplish  one  little  thing  in  a 
day  !  If  it  is  only  to  be  perfect  in  a  song ;  to  make  one  fin 
ished  drawing :  if  it  is  only  that  I  can  say  to  myself,  I  have 
been  successful  once,  in  one  undertaking !  " 

"  I  have  felt  such  wishes ;  but  I  am  beginning  to  think  I 
must  put  them  aside,  with  other  childish  ambitions,  such  as 
that  of  reaching  the  top  of  Graypeak.  I  begin  to  feel  now 


IN   AMERICA.  17 

the  pleasure  I  felt  then,  when  I  saw  my  lowly  valley-home ; 
a  gratification,  that  my  lot  is  cast  in  quiet,  contented  places, 
and  that  I  am  not  forced  to  struggle  after  mere  success.  I 
believe  it  is  granted  to  few  men  to  see  it,  and  never  to 
women." 

"  But  I  do  not  aspire  so  high  as  to  wish  to  be  famous.  I 
would  be  satisfied  with  being  accomplished.  If  one  could 
really  have  one  accomplishment,  — that,  indeed,  is  asking  a 
great  deal,  —  one  might  command  the  world,  with  a  perfect 
voice,  or  grace,  or  an  artist's  power !  I  would,  indeed,  rest 
satisfied,  if  some  day  I  could  say  to  myself,  I  have  actually, 
to-day,  finished  one  thing." 

"  To-day,  Gertrude,  you  must  be  content  to  carry  away 
the  memory  of  this  sunset  sky.  See  how  that  bank  of 
clouds  has  melted  away,  and  what  a  glorious  purple  light 
rests  upon  the  hills !  We  shall  have  to  leave  it  all  behind, 
for  there  comes  Uncle  Andrew,  through  the  garden,  towards 
the  house,  and  the  tea-bell  must  be  heard  soon.  I  wish  you 
had  been  here  in  the  spring,  to  see  how  the  columbines 
skirted  this  path ;  but  next  spring,  perhaps  you  will  be  here, 
then  —  " 

"  I  wish  you  could  tell  me  where  I  shall  be,  and  what !  " 


CHAPTER    III. 

GERTRUDE  and  Anna  entered  the  parlor,  where  the  tea- 
table  was  laid.  The  windows  were  opened,  and  the  roses 
and  honeysuckles  peeped  in.  The  room  was  plainly  fur 
nished;  but,  for  the  last  two  years,  it  had  worn  a  brighter 
and  more  cheerful  air.  This  was  since  Anna  had  returned 
from  her  school  year  in  Boston.  Then  the  picture  of  the 
2* 


18  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  with  its  brightly  painted  red-coats, 
had  given  place  to  a  pretty  crayon  head  of  a  pouting  boy, 
done,  with  some  taste,  by  Anna  herself.  There  were  pretty 
vases  of  the  last  of  the  garden-flowers  scattered  around  the 
room,  and  in  the  corner,  on  a  small  table,  stood  a  small  plas 
ter  image  of  Faith.  At  the  door-way,  the  girls  met  Uncle 
Andrew.  He  had  a  gentleman  with  him,  whom  he  intro 
duced  as  Mr.  Newstead.  Mr.  Newstead  had  just  been  visit 
ing  the  factories,  and  Uncle  Andrew  had  invited  him  to 
come  home,  and  take  his  supper  with  the  family. 

Gertrude  shook  hands  with  him.  "  I  have  seen  you 
before,  Mr.  Newstead." 

"  O  yes,  in  a  very  different  place  from  this ;  in  a  gay 
party,  in  Boston." 

"  And  that,  Mr.  Newstead,  was  as  strange  a  place  for  you 
as  this  for  me.  You  told  me,  then,  I  think,  that  you  had 
forsworn  society  and  the  world." 

"  It  is  very  true,  Miss  Ashton ;  nothing  but  the  hope  of 
meeting  an  old  friend  would  have  led  me  into  such  a  con 
fusion  of  tongues.  But  can  you  tell  me  how  it  is  that  I 
find  you  at  home  here  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  ? " 

"  It  is  not  a  very  long  story ;  and  now  that  Miss  Wilkie 
is  making  you  comfortable  with  a  cup  of  her  delicious  tea 
—  what,  is  it  possible  you  can  deny  yourself  so  pleasing  a 
luxury  ? "  — 

"  If  Miss  Wilkie  will  allow  me,  I  will  make  my  supper 
on  a  dish  of  baked  apples  and  milk.  Nature  furnishes  my 
table." 

"  I  am  afraid  Nature  is  not  always  kind  enough  to  bake 
your  apples,  Mr.  Newstead.  But  if  you  must  be  so  abste 
mious,  Gertrude  must  make  up  for  it,  by  giving  as 
spirited  an  account  as  possible  of  her  wonderful  appearance 
here." 


IN   AMERICA.  19 

"  Mr.  Newstead  ought  not  to  wonder  that  I  should  have 
been  heartily  tired  of  the  tumultuous  life  of  Boston,  after  a 
long  winter,  and  sffbuld  have  longed  for  some  change,  when 
the  spring  came.  Ah,  well!  it  was  some  time  before  I  could 
satisfy  myself.  In  one  place  there  was  a  house  fall  of 
noisy  children,  and  in  another  I  was  allowed  no  freedom. 
Imagine  me  returning  from  a  solitary  moonlight  excursion, 
one  night,  and  receiving  a  long  lecture  from  the  lady  of  the 
house  upon  my  late  hours.  But  I  am  not  going  to  tell  all 
my  summer  experiences.  At  last,  I  was  most  comfortably 
placed  in  Fairmeadow,  with  dear  Mrs.  Brackett,  a  relation 
of  my  father's,  where  I  did  what  I  pleased  —  got  up  when 
I  chose,  rode,  walked,  and  sat  by  myself.  And  here  I 
might  have  lived,  in  sad  ignorance  of  such  a  person  as  my 
dear  friend,  Anna  Wilkie,  when  I  was  attacked  with  a 
violent  fever  —  " 

"  0,  Gertrude,  you  had  been  so  imprudent,  wetting  your 
feet,  arid  then  sitting  all  day  without  once  thinking  of 
changing  your  shoes." 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Wilkie,  I  ought  not  to  complain,  for  it 
taught  me  the  kindness  of  all  the  neighbors  in  Fairmeadow. 
Miss  Prim,  whose  queer  ways  I  had  secretly  laughed  at, 
came  in,  with  her  sympathizing  smile,  and  her  wormwood 
tea ;  and  Mrs.  Dawdle  watched  with  me  so  kindly.  But, 
best  of  all,  came  the  saint  of  the  village,  the  dear  sister  of 
charity,  —  if  she  could  not  cure  the  body,  she  knew  how  to 
heal  the  soul,  —  my  dear  new-found  friend,  Anna." 

"And  my  dear  new-found  friend,  Gertrude,  you  must 
stop ;  you  are  growing  too  tragic.  You  will  never  finish 
your  supper ;  and  Uncle  Andrew  is  beginning  to  cry,  and 
Mr.  Newstead  wants  you  to  reach  him  the  milk.  You 
must  finish  your  supper,  and  come  to  the  doorway,  before 
the  new  moon  sinks  quite  behind  the  trees." 


20  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  Miss  Anna,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  as  they  stood  after 
wards  upon  the  porch,  in  front  of  the  house,  watching  the 
moonlight  as  it  fell  chequered  upon* the  trees,  —  "Miss 
Anna,  you  have  a  quiet,  pleasant  home  here.  One  would 
never  think,  from  its  stillness,  that  there  was  so  near  you 
such  a  noisy,  whirling  world  as  I  have  been  into  this  after 
noon.  Such  life  as  I  have  seen  in  mechanical  things,  — 
full  of  changing  motion,  —  almost  expression !  And  then 
such  death  in  the  human  beings  around  !  What  a  contrast 
between  the  whirring,  bustling  activity  of  these  machines, 
and  the  dull  mechanism  of  their  operators!  And  one  is 
almost  disposed  to  ask,  which  is  most  conscious  of  what  it 
is  working ! " 

"  O,  Mr.  Newstead !  I  am  very  glad  my  father  is  not  here 
—  I  am  glad  you  could  not  say  this  to  my  father.  Or, 
rather,  I  almost  wish  he  were  here,  for  he  would  certainly, 
if  he  were  not  too  angry  with  you,  show  you  how  mistaken 
you  are." 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Miss  Anna ;  I  ought,  perhaps,  not 
to  have  spoken  so  plainly;  but  I  am  riot  accustomed  to 
restrain  the  expression  of  my  opinions." 

"  But,  Mr.  Newstead,  how  came  you  in  so  uncongenial  a 
place?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Anna,  my  home  has  been,  for  the  last  few 
weeks,  among  the  mountains.  I  set  forth,  some  weeks  ago, 
on  a  pedestrian  excursion  towards  the  North  River.  This 
morning,  I  was  above  your  house,  upon  the  highest  point, 
admiring  the  glorious  landscape  before  me.  The  storm  of 
to-day  drove  me  down  into  the  valley,  and  I  found  myself, 
soon,  by  the  large  buildings  which  your  father  has  erected 
for  his  factories.  I  thought  I  might  find  a  shelter,  and  see 
something  quite  new  to  me.  I  entered  the  buildings.  Your 
father,  I  found,  was  in  New  York ;  but  the  overseer  allowed 


V.     IN    AMERICA.  21 

me  to  go  about  at  my  pleasure,  and  has  promised  to-morrow 
to  explain  to  me  everything  connected  with  these  great 
works." 

"  Sometime  my  father  shall  explain  to  you  the  powers  of 
these  life-like  machines  you  speak  of;  and,  in  the  mean 
while,  I  will  try  to  show  you  there  is  some  life  in  those  prim- 
looking  figures,  whose  mechanical  air  and  manner  so  dis 
turb  you.  I  have  found  among  them  some  of  my  warmest 
friends ;  and  I  fear  you  did  not  look  at  them  very  closely,  if 
you  saw  nothing  more  in  them  than  what  you  say.",  j  ./  : 

"  I  confess  I  did  not  give  my  mind  to  what  I  saw  this 
morning ;  and  I  will  confess,  too,  I  was  a  little  out  of  humor. 
I  was  disappointed  in  not  finding  Mr.  Wilkie.  I  had 
depended  much  upon  seeing  him,  to  consult  with  him  upon 
some  plans  I  have.  A  day  or  two's  delay  disconcerts  me  very 
much.  And  instead  of  employing  my  eyes,  I  was  turning1 
over,  in  my  mind,  whether  I  would  go  on,  and  follow  my 
own  inclination  and  impulses,  or  listen  to  the  voice  of  pru 
dence,  which  warned  me  to  consult  one  of  my  best  friends, 
your  father.  When  I  met  with  Uncle  Andrew,  as  you  call 
him,  I  had  so  far  decided  upon  the  latter  course,  as  to  be 
very  glad  to  accept  his  kind  entreaties,  at  least  to  stay  the 
night  here,  and  find  out  what  was  the  probability  of  my 
seeing  Mr.  Wilkie  in  the  course  of  a  few  days." 

"  My  father  has  probably  reached  New  York  to-night ; 
and  if  he  does  not  return  himself,  in  a  day  or  two,  we  shall 
hear  from  him  what  are  his  plans." 


22 


MARGARET   PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER   IV. 


"  ANNA,"  said  Gertrude,  as  the  party  reentered  the  parlor, 
"  your  mother  and  I  have  got  upon  the  old  subject,  and  I 
have  almost  decided  to  write  to  Margaret  Percival  myself. 
Your  mother  thinks  there  would  be  no  impropriety  in  it." 

"  Impropriety  !  —  Certainly  not.  The  fact  that  such  a 
memoir  of  her  is  published  makes  her  almost  a  public  char 
acter." 

"  O,  Anna ! "  said  Gertrude,  "  it  is  not  fair  to  speak  so 
of  Margaret  Percival,  since  we  have  heard  how  such  a 
history  of  her  was  published." 

"  You  speak  of  Margaret  Percival,"  said  Mr.  Newstead. 
"  Is  there,  in  fact,  such  a  person  ?  I  have  heard  of  a  book 
called  Margaret  Percival." 

"  And  this  book,  Mr.  Newstead,"  said  Gertrude,  "  is  the 
history  of  a  real  life.  Mrs.  Wilkie  heard,  only  yesterday, 
how  it  was  it  came  to  be  published.  Was  it  Mr.  Churchill 
or  Mr.  Harrod  told  you,  ma'am?  It  appears  that  her 
uncle  Sunderland  fancied  that  a  history  of  her  religious 
experiences  might  be  useful  to  some  of  her  younger  brothers 
and  sisters  —  perhaps  even  to  herself.  That  what  she  had 
passed  through,  for  instance,  might  stand  written  as  a  sort 
of  warning.  He  wrote  this  without  her  knowledge.  He 
afterwards  showed  it  to  her,  and  I  believe  she  then  added 
something  herself;  perhaps  made  some  corrections.  And 
it  was  afterwards  published  without  her  knowledge.  He 
wrote  it  from  her  journals  and  his." 

"  It  was  Mrs.  Brewster  who  told  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie. 
"  She  heard  it  from  a  friend  who  corresponds  with  England. 
Her  idea  is,  I  believe,  that  Margaret  Percival  does  not,  to 


IN  AMERICA.  23 

this  day,  know  of  its  publication ;  but  that  must  be  impos 
sible." 

"  But  what  sort  of  a  work  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Newstead. 

"  It  must  be  a  work  of  some  power,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie, 
"  for  it  has  been  most  universally  read." 

"But  that,"  said  Anna,  "can  be  accounted  for  by  its 
being  so  exact  an  account  of  the  inner  life  of  a  person.  One 
cannot  help  being  interested  in  reading  of  mental  struggles, 
which  are  usually  kept  concealed." 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  many  opinions  expressed  upon  it," 
continued  Mrs.  Wilkie.  "  I  have  heard  the  characters  in 
the  book  criticized,  as  being  unnatural ;  and  now  it  appears 
it  is  a  real  history."  , 

"  And  Anna's  objection  to  the  book,"  said  Gertrude,  "  is, 
that  Margaret's  character  is  not  stronger.  Now,  it  is  her 
very  weakness  that  interests  me." 

"  Miss  Anna,  then,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  would  prefer 
perfection  in  her  heroine." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Anna,  "  but  you  are  partly  right ; 
though  this  is  not  my  objection  to  Margaret  Percival.  I 
must  confess,  however,  that  in  a  novel,  or  work  of  fiction, 
I  am  pleased  to  have  the  heroine,  at  least  at  the  end  of  the 
book,  come  out  towards  perfection.  We  grow  discouraged 
in  real  life,  because  we  do  not  see  the  result  of  things ;  we 
are  impatient  that  affairs  do  not  turn  out  crowned  with 
success.  Now,  it  is  very  encouraging  to  me  to  meet,  even 
in  a  novel,  with  a  heroine  who  has  conquered.  It  gives  me 
a  hope,  that,  though  the  end  is  not  yet,  and  I  must  not  pre 
sume  to  look  for  it  here, — this  fable  of  success,  I  mean,  gives 
me  a  belief,  —  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  success,  and  a 
triumph  over  temptation.  For  instance,  I  thank  Jane  Eyre 
for  having  conquered,  as  I  would  thank  a  real  martyr  for 
having  lived  and  suffered." 


24  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  Well,  Anna,  a  biography  must  tell  the  truth,"  said 
Gertrude ;"  if  it  is  a  true  history,  we  must  read  of  the 
doubts." 

,  "  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason,"  said  Anna,  "  that  I  do  not 
like  biographies  —  that  is,  a  history  of  real  struggles.  In 
most  cases,  we,  who  can  see  only  in  part,  see  only  the 
contest ;  we  know  nothing  of  the  victory.  The  history  of 
Margaret  Percival  begins  and  is  filled  with  her  doubts. 
It  ends  in  her  faith  —  in  what  ?  In  another  human  being, 
as  frail  as  herself.  She  takes  up  his  belief,  and  assumes  it 
as  hers.  Now,  how  long  do  you  suppose  this  will  last  ? 
Margaret  has  only  conquered  her  doubts  in  outward  things 
of  faith.  I  leave  her  with  a  feeling  of  sadness.  It  seems 
to  me  her  trials  and  struggles  are  scarcely  opening  upon 
her.  Instead  of  being  the  '  End  of  Margaret  Percival,'  it  is 
not  even  the  beginning  of  her  true  life." 

"  And  it  is  just  that  I  want  to  find  out,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  I  want  to  ask  her,  if  she  has  reached  a  place  of  rest, 
whether  she  is  indeed  satisfied  with  her  present  belief." 
.  "  Mr.  Wilkie  has  taken  the  memoir  with  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilkie,  "  in  the  cars,  to  New  York,  to-day.  I  interested 
him  somewhat  in  my  account  of  Margaret  Percival ;  and, 
Anna,  he  really  talked  seriously  of  getting  her  out  here." 

After  the  girls  had  retired  for  the  night,  Gertrude  said  : 

"  I  should,  indeed,  like  to  talk  with  Margaret  Percival ! 
Did  you  ever  have  a  longing  to  meet  with  some  one  who 
had  a  real  true  faith,  to  whom  you  could  always  carry  your 
doubts  ?  It  is  something  as  I  come  to  you,  to  be  sure ;  but 
then  we  seldom  agree  —  " 

"  The  difficulty  is,"  said  Anna,  "  persons  with  such  a  faith 
as  you  suppose  cannot  clear  away  our  doubts,  because  they 
cannot  sympathize  in  them.  Our  doubts  are  lower  than 
they  are,  — are  of  a  different  nature.  I  had  once  such  a 


m  AMERICA.  25 

friend  as  you  describe.  Grace  Lindsay's  faith  was  like 
that  of  a  child  —  it  never  wavered." 

"  Did  she  never  tell  you  how  she  came  to  such  a  faith  ? 
What  were  the  steps  that  led  to  it  ?  " 

"  There  were  no  such  steps.  I  believe  this  faith  was 
born  in  her.  Don't  shake  your  head  —  there  are  such 
people.  For  that  reason,  I  could  never  carry  her  my  doubts 
and  fears.  I  refrained  from  speaking  of  them  a  long  time, 
because  I  thought  it  was  wrong  to  suggest  to  her  such 
struggles  as  she,  perhaps,  had  never  dreamed  of." 

"  And  did  you  never  speak  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  when  at  last  I  was  sorely  troubled,  when  the 
way  seemed  very  dark  to  me,  I  went  to  her.  But,  as  I 
have  told  you,  she  could  not  comprehend  my  doubts.  It 
was  as  if,  this  bright  moonlight  night,  I  were  to  go  to  her, 
and  ask  her  if  the  moon  were  shining.  And  I  came  away, 
saying  to  myself  that  the  blindness  was  in  myself;  that  it 
was  because  *  mine  eyes  were  evil.' " 

"  But  she  must  have  always  lived  a  life  without  temp 
tation —  without  trial.  Forgive  me,  Anna  —  this  friend  of 
yours  —  is  she  dead  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  same  as  dead  to  me.  A  few  years  ago  she 
moved  away  into  the  far  West.  I  have  scarcely  heard 
from  her  since.  Grace  never  writes.  She  is  much  wrapped 
up  in  the  duties  that  surround  her  —  perhaps  she  is  too 
much  so.  You,  who  do  not  like  perfect  people,  may  be 
willing  she  should  have  this  one  fault.  It  may  arise  from 
her  peculiar  character.  She  believes,  for  instance,  in  my 
love,  all  the  same,  though  we  have  no  intercourse." 

"  Anna,  will  you  let  me  say,  such  a  character  seems  to 
me  an  icy  one.  I  would  prefer  more  of  impulse,  and  less 
of  this  serenity  !  " 

"  You  asked  me,  Gertrude,  if  she  had  not  lived  a  placid 
3 


26  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

life.  I  must  tell  you  that  Grace  has  gone  through  what  I 
truly  believe  would  have  broken  down  a  character  of  less 
strength.  I  don't  often  speak  of  Grace  Lindsay ;  and  since 
I  have  begun,  I  will  tell  you  more  of  her.  This  was  her 
great  suffering :  —  When  her  father,  some  years  ago,  lost  all 
his  property,  the  person  to  whom  Grace  was  engaged,  whom 
she  had  loved,  through  many  years  of  her  life,  with  her 
whole  heart,  deserted  her.  Mr.  Lindsay  had  to  give  up 
his  comfortable  house  and  home,  and,  at  last,  to  leave  his 
native  village.  But  these  trials  were  of  little  moment,  in 
comparison  with  her .  separation  forever  from  him  whose 
name  I  never  like  to  speak.  I  cannot  tell  you  the  scenes  that 
Grace  had  to  go  through.  I  never  saw  her  but  she  appeared 
the  same,  strong  to  the  last  moment.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
being  called  upon  to  give  up  her  faith  in  man,  had  only 
made  her  trust  in  God  the  stronger.  The  only  time  she 
ever  spoke  to  me  of  him,  she  said,  '  It  was  a  mistake,  a  sad 
mistake  of  mine.  I  trusted  in  my  own  powers.  I  knew  his 
iaults  only  too  well.  I  fancied  it  would  be  my  part,  and 
now,  to  lead  him  from  them.  But  I  see  all  plainer  now. 
The  work  was  too  great  for  me.  I  leave  it  now  in  God's 
own  hands,  and  in  his  own  time.' 

"  Whatever  I  hear  of  Grace  now  agrees  with  the  picture 
I  shall  always  keep  of  her  in  my  mind.  I  imagine  her 
moving  about,  with  her  calm,  serene  smile.  There  are 
many  discordant  elements  in  her  home,  but  her  presence, 
there  softens  them  almost  entirely.  Every  one  who  sees 
her  trusts  in  her  sympathizing  smile,  and  is  calmed  by  her 
quiet,  gentle  manner.  It  was  a  great  hardship  for  me  to 
part  with  her,  because,  to  see  her,  when  I  was  disturbed  by 
any  cares  or  trials,  was  like  looking  up  at  the  clear  blue 
sky  again,  after  coming  out  from  a  dark,  heavy  storm.  And 
even  now,  this  remembrance  of  her  —  this  picture  of  her  in 


IN   AMERICA. 


my  mind,  going  through  all  her  duties  with  the  same  look 
of  trust  and  faith  —  has  over  me  an  elevating  effect,  and 
often  gives  me  strength,  when  I  feel  fainting  and  weak." 


CHAPTER   V. 

AFTER  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Wilkie  urged 
Mr.  Newstead  to  stay  until  Mr.  Wilkie's  return. 

"  It  is  quite  possible,  Mr.  Newstead,  that  Mr.  Wilkie  will 
be  at  home  Thursday  night.  This  is  one  of  his  flying  jour 
neys  ;  and  I  know  he  does  not  mean  to  stay  in  New  York. 
You  can  then  consult  with  him  upon  your  affairs ;  and  he 
will  show  you  everything  connected  with  the  factories. 
Meanwhile,  our  young  ladies  will  find  something  for  you  to 
admire  in  our  scenery." 

"  We  have  planned,  for  this  morning,"  said  Anna, "  a  long 
drive ;  and  will  make  it  still  longer,  Mr.  Newstead,  if  you 
will  go  with  us.  I  have  promised  Gertrude  she  should  see 
the  beautiful  view  from  the  hill  above  the  Robber's  Cave." 

Mrs.  Wilkie  would  not  allow  Mr.  Newstead  to  think  of 
leaving  before  Mr.  Wilkie's  return ;  and  her  hospitality  was 
so  kindly  urged,  he  could  hardly  refuse  it.  Gertrude  wished 
to  wait  till  the  letters,  by  the  post,  should  arrive.  Uncle  An 
drew  had  gone,  at  an  early  hour,  to  Fairmeadow,  for  letters ; 
and  he  brought  with  him  one  for  Gertrude,  from  her  father. 
Gertrude  went  to  Anna's  porch  to  read  her  letter,  and  Anna 
soon  after  followed  her  there.  She  found  her  looking  dis 
turbed  and  sad. 

"  Anna,  I  have  received  sad  news  from  home.  It  makes 
me  wish  I  were  stronger ;  that  is,  of  more  decision.  But  I 
will  tell  you  all,  and  you  shall  help  me  to  decide.  My. 


28 


MARGARET     PERCIVAL 


father  writes  me  that  Aunt  Clara  has  been  sent  for,  to  go  to 
Baltimore,  to  be  with  a  friend,  who  is  very  ill ;  and  she  will 
have  to  be  there,  perhaps,  all  the  winter.  Now,  Aunt  Clara 
has  always  had  the  care  of  the  children.  Nobody  else 
understands  their  ways,  and  nobody  can  manage  them  as 
she  does.  To  be  sure,  she  is  strict  enough  with  them  —  " 

"  Does  your  father  send  for  you  ?  Are  you  to  take  your 
Aunt  Clara's  place  ?" 

"  O,  no ;  my  father  has  not  thought  of  that.  He  has 
sent  the  boys  to  Mr.  Grimsby's,  where  they  were  at  school 
a  few  years  ago.  He  never  liked  the  school  much  ;  but  this 
is  only  for  the  winter.  Then  Agnes  and  Lizzie  will  go  to 
stay  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spenser.  They  have  a  small  fam 
ily  ;  and  the  girls  will  be  wretchedly  managed  there.  Then 
he  will  shut  up  the  house  at  Elmwood,  and  means  to  go  into 
Boston  for  the  winter.  And  he  wants  me  to  form  my  plans ; 
I  must  either  board  with  him  at  a  hotel  in  Boston,  or  stay 
with  one  of  my  aunts  in  town.  Or,  perhaps,  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Spenser  —  they  may  let  me  go  there  too.  He  suggests 
that  I  might  stay,  for  the  present,  at  Mrs.  Brackett's,  in  the 
village.  You  know,  when  he  came  up  to  see  me,  while  I 
was  so  ill,  he  was  much  pleased  with  her,  and  the  neatness 
of  her  house." 

"  And,  Gertrude,  you  — " 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Anna  ;  I  know  what  you  are  going  to 
say.  As  I  read  my  letter,  I  knew  that,  if  you  were  in  my 
place,  you  would  be  satisfied  with  none  of  these  plans. 
And  I  fear  you  would  now  advise  me  to  tell  my  father  I  will 
go  to  Elmwood,  and  take  care  of  the  house  —  of  the  chil 
dren.  But,  Anna,  the  very  idea  overpowers  me.  The  little 
petty  cares  of  every  day  would  be  enough  to  kill  me.  If 
it  were  anything  else,  —  a  struggle  with  something  higher 
and  more  noble  ;  but  it  is  just  these  little  things,  that  one 


T  .  ._, .   IN   AMERICA.  29 

cannot  prepare  one's  self  for,  that  rise  up  each  moment  of 
the  day.  Anna,  I  know  I  should  fail,  if  I  tried  to  contend 
with  them." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  strong  enough  now,  Gertrude. 
But,  the  children,  — you  have  often  told  me  how  much  you 
wished  you  could  do  more  for  them." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  know  that  Mr.  Grimsby  and  the  Spensers 
are  the  last  persons  in  the  world  to  have  the  care  of  them. 
I  do  not  know,  indeed,  as  I  am  much  better  than  they.  Ar 
thur  and  George  are  at  school  all  the  morning  —  I  might  get 
along  with  them.  But  Agnes  and  Lizzie.  Agnes  is  always 
getting  into  trouble.  She  is  in  some  scrape  or  other,  half 
the  time.  And  Lizzie  is  so  desponding ;  she  needs  constant 
encouragement  about  everything.  I  might  tell  you,  and  I 
am  afraid  you  would  laugh  at  it,  of  a  week's  experience  of 
mine,  in  the  care  of  the  house,  and  of  the  children." 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  tell  me  now.  Mr.  Newstead  is  wait 
ing  for  us,  you  know.  A  quiet  drive  will  help  you  in  your 
decision.  When  does  your  father  leave  Elmwood  ? " 

"  Not  till  the  end  of  October,  or  the  beginning  of  Novem 
ber.  He  keeps  the  girls  with  him  until  then." 

"  Well,  you  are  promised  to  me  for  three  weeks,  at  least ; 
and,  meanwhile,  you  can  make  up  your  mind  what  is  best. 
You  are  not  strong  enough  now  for  thinking  ;  and  you  must 
lay  the  subject  all  aside,  at  least  for  this  morning.  You 
and  I  must  do  our  best  to  entertain  Mr.  Newstead.  I  don't 
think  he  is  inclined  to  think  much  of  us  as  it  is." 

Mr.  Newstead,  soon  after,  was  driving  the  two  girls 
through  one  of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful  of  country 
roads.  It  wound  along  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  was 
thickly  shaded  by  the  trees  on  each  side.  It  was  constantly 
crossed  by  quickly  running  mountain  streams.  The  dark 
foliage  was  here  and  there  lighted  up  with  the  first  brilliancy 


30  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

of  the  autumn  colors,  and  the  golden-rod  made  a  sunlight  in 
the  shady  places.  The  road  avoided  the  factory  village. 
Anna  preferred  to  return  through  the  village,  when  they 
would  pass  it  as  the  factory  people  were  going  to  their 
dinner. 

Mr.  Newstead  was  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  scenery  ; 
and  there  was  not  a  bright  leaf,  or  brilliant  flower,  that 
escaped  his  notice.  He  said  he  would  enjoy  more  such  a 
ride  as  this,  than  a  visit  to  any  of  the  renowned  places  of 
England,  even  of  Europe. 

"  I  do  not  love  to  compare,"  said  Anna,  "  things  that  are 
so  different.  I  do,  indeed,  think  I  would  not  wish  to  give 
up  my  beautiful  home  scenery  here ;  but  I  cannot  help 
hoping  that,  sometime,  I  may  have  had  both  enjoyments. 
I  cannot  help  feeling,  if  I  enjoy  so  much  here,  where  even 
every  blade  of  grass  is  full  of  delight  and  beauty,  that  when 
I  have  there  all  the  beauty  and  delight  of  old  association 
beside,  the  enjoyment  will  be  more  intense  than  I  can 
imagine  now." 

"  You  forget,  Miss  Anna,  that  when  you  do  see  this 
beauty  of  association  with  the  olden  time  —  and,  indeed, 
there  may  be  such  a  thing  —  you  see  it  in  its  decay  ;  you 
see  a  history  of  something  that  could  not  live.  Here,  every 
thing  is  coming  forward  with  vigor  and  freshness.  May 
we  not  hope  it  is  a  promise  of  the  glorious  history  that  some 
future  age  will  see  written  here  ?  You  must  let  me  say  I 
am  glad  these  trees,  for  a  little  while,  hide  from  us  the  busy 
life  in  the  valley,  —  that  is  a  life  transplanted  from  the  old 
world ;  it  is  not  worthy  this  new  country,  this  healthy  forest 
growth.  I  do  not  ask  to  go  back  into  the  old  country,  to 
see  its  hoary  ruins,  and  its  massive  cathedrals  ;  its  pictures 
of  stern  contrast,  of  starvation  and  excess," 


IN    AMERICA.  31 

'*  You  make  me  think,"  said  Anna,  "  of  a  dream  I  had  of 
going  to  England." 

"  My  dreams,"  said  Gertrude,  "  have  been  day-dreams. 
I  have  never  seen  such  a  picture  as  you  give  of  the  old 
world,  before,  Mr.  Newstead.  It  is  not  possible,  Anna,  you 
could  have  dreamed  such  a  picture." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  said  Anna,  "  where  my  picture  came 
from,  in  my  dream.  It  was  very  different  from  all  the 
thoughts  I  had  ever  had  of  England.  But  the  impression  it 
left  on  my  mind  is  as  strong  as  that  of  any  scene  I  ever 
went  through." 

"  It  must  be  very  beautiful,"  said  Gertrude,  "  to  dream  of 
the  Coliseum,  —  of  Italy." 

"  My  dream  was  not  so  bright  as  that.  In  my  dream,  I 
formed  a  plan  of  going  to  England, — not  to  see  its  castles, 
its  beautiful  country,  and  the  splendor  of  its  city  life,  — 
but  I  had  a  Quixotic  plan,  which,  I  am  sure,  I  never  felt  in 
my  waking  hours,  of  going  among  the  poor  people.  It  was 
a  Quixotic  plan  ;  for,  in  my  dream,  I  seemed  to  feel  I  had 
no  means  or  power  to  relieve  what  want  and  suffering  I 
might  see;  but  still  I  went.  I  reached  there  a  perfect 
stranger,  and  I  went  to  so  sad  and  desolate  a  place  as  I  never 
in  my  life  saw.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  crowded  city. 
And  yet  it  was  not  sad,  either ;  for  I  was  received  into  this 
home,  —  I,  a  poor  stranger,  poor  as  themselves,  —  by  people 
so  hearty,  so  earnest  in  their  kindness,  that  I  could  not  refuse 
the  shelter  they  offered  me.  The  little  room  where  these 
people  received  me  was  more  wretched,  more  dark,  than 
any  I  had  ever  conceived  of.  A  cellar,  with  a  little  window 
opening  upon  a  dark  yard.  I  had  rather  not  give  you  so 
vivid  a  description  as  I  might,  from  its  picture  in  my  dream. 
There  were  a  few  sparks  of  fire  in  what  answered  for  a 
stove.  The  mother  was  to  be  gone  all  day,  about  some 


MARGARET   PERCIVAL 


work  ;  and  I  agreed  to  hold  in  my  arms  the  poor,  sick  child, 
who  had  no  better  resting-place  in  the  unfurnished  room. 
This  poor  child,  —  but  I  cannot  bear  to  tell  you  of  its  suffer 
ing,  of  how  it  refused  to  eat  the  morsel  of  bread  that  I 
begged  for  it,  but  was  most  earnest  in  its  entreaties  that  it 
snould  be  kept  for  its  mother  and  brothers  ;  and  this  poor, 
petty  piece  of  bread  was  given  me  by  a  poor  woman  who 
lived  in  the  next  room,  and  who  had  herself  barely  the 
means  of  life.  And  yet,  in  this  poor,  deserted  room,  there 
shone  out  a  glow  and  radiance  that  made  me  forget  almost 
the  weight  of  sickness,  poverty,  starvation,  that  stared  me 
in  the  face.  I  cannot  paint  it  to  you  better  than  I  can 
paint  the  desolation  of  this  home.  And  this  was  the 
strongest  impression  left  by  my  dream.  Not  the  picture  of 
misery  and  woe  ;  but  almost  a  gladsomeness,  that  was  created 
by  a  kindly  home  feeling,  and  that  could  not  be  quenched 
even  in  such  a  scene." 

"  And  what  you  speak  of  is  not  merely  the  fabric  of  a 
dream,"  said  Mr.  Newstead.  "I  will  acknowledge  that, 
much  as  I  long  for  the  time  when  there  shall  be  no  poorer 
nor  richer,  I  have  often  been  taught  the  lesson,  that  it  is 
very  little  we  can  give  the  poor,  in  giving  them  comfort,  and 
the  wherewithal  to  live.  For  they  show  us,  in  their  lives, 
a  gift  that  surpasses  these,  and  a  source  of  happiness  inde 
pendent  of  these,  that  rises  from  their  love  to  each  other, 
and  their  home  happiness  in  each  other." 

"  It  is  very  true,"  said  Anna,  "  what  Mr.  Harrod  told 
us,  the  other  day,  in  a  sermon,  that  it  is  very  little,  the  good 
we  do  for  others  poorer  than  ourselves,  in  the  way  of  char 
ity,  in  comparison  with  the  good  we  do  to  ourselves,  in 
acting  for  others.  How  beautifully  these  flowers,  at  the 
road-side,  are  clothed,  who  '  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin  !  ' 


IN   AMERICA.  33 

We  cannot  fear  but  that  they  will  be  cared  for,  who  strug 
gle,  and  toil,  and  suffer,  day  and  night." 

"  Anna !  Mr.  Newstead !  "  cried  Gertrude.  "  Are  not 
those  fringed  gentians,  on  the  bank,  above  us  ?  " 

On  the  steep  bank  of  the  road,  where  even  the  grass 
refused  to  grow,  they  were  standing,  the  beautiful  blue  gen 
tians,  and  nodded  in  the  wind,  as  the  party  stopped  to  gather 
them. 

"  But,  Anna,"  continued  Gertrude,  "  it  is  not  very  pleas 
ant  to  me,  this  idea  of  doing  good  only  for  our  own  sake, 
after  all.  You  cannot  mean  to  suggest  such  a  motive  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed !  Only,  in  all  deeds  of  outward  charity,  one 
has  times  of  great  discouragement.  There  is  so  much  to  be 
done,  and  we  have  so  little  power,  and  our  means  are  so 
small !  or,  we  are  deceived,  and  begin  to  sink  under  our 
efforts ;  then,  it  is  encouraging  to  think  that  the  act  itself 
has  something  powerful  in  itself,  and  will  do  something  for 
ourselves,  if  not  for  others." 

The  scenery  began  now  to  grow  more  wild  and  beautiful. 
The  road  reached  the  river  again,  and  was  shut  in  by  high, 
bold  mountains,  between  which  was  only  space  for  the  narrow 
road,  and  for  the  river  to  roll  rapidly  along.  It  was  among 
the  rocky  cavities  in  the  mountain  that  hung  over  the  road 
that  the  Robber's  Cave  could  be  found.  A  wild,  clambering 
path  led  to  it,  so  steep,  that  it  was  not  till  he  reached  the 
top  that  the  climber  could  venture  to  turn  round  to  see 
the  view  below.  Then  he  saw  the  black,  roaring  river 
beneath,  the  steep  precipice,  and  the  •  rich  foliage  of  every 
varying  shade,  that,  with  bright,  glowing  colors,  crowded 
and  filled  in  the  landscape.  And  at  his  very  feet  lay 
again  the  road,  winding  quietly  along.  As  Mr.  New- 
stead  pointed  out  its  beautiful  pathway  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  he  recalled  a  spirited  passage  he  had  read 


34  MARGAEET     PERCFVAL 

upon  the  beauty  of  the  high  road.  He  could  mostly  repeat 
it. 

"  What  is  there  more  beautiful  than  a  road  ?  It  is  the 
symbol  and  image  of  an  active  and  varied  life.  How  many 
pleasing  ideas  spring  up  at  sight  of  its  capricious  windings ! 
It  is  the  pathway  for  humanity  —  the  high  road  for  the  uni 
verse.  It  belongs  to  no  master,  who  can  shut  it  in,  or  open 
it,  at  his  will.  It  is  not  merely  the  rich  and  the  powerful 
who  have  the  right  to  tread  its  flowery  borders,  and  breathe 
its  wild  perfume.  Every  bird  may  hang  his  nest  from  its 
branches  —  every  wanderer  may  rest  his  head  upon  its 
stones.  No  wall  or  palisade  shuts  out  the  horizon.  The 
heavens  are  not  closed  before  it ;  and,  as  far  as  sight  reaches, 
the  road  is  a  land  of  liberty.  On  the  right,  on  the  left,  the 
fields,  the  woods,  belong  to  masters  ;  the  road  belongs  to  him 
who  possesses  nought  else.  How,  then,  must  he  love  it ! 
The  rudest  beggar  feels  towards  it  a  love  that  is  invincible. 
Let  the  world  build  for  him  hospitals  as  rich  as  palaces  — 
they  will  be  prisons  for  him.  His  poetry,  his  dream,  his 
passion,  will  be  always  the  road,  the  common  road  ! " 

"  You  speak  this,"  said  Anna,  "  with  an  enthusiasm,  as  if 
you  felt  the  same  love  yourself  for  '  the  road.'  And,  indeed, 
there  can  be  nothing  more  exciting  than  such  wanderings  as 
you  are  making,  over  hills,  by  river  streams,  following  every 
tempting  winding  roadway.  But  I  should  think  the  high 
road  would  hardly  offer  such  temptations  as  the  little  cot 
tages  by  the  wayside,  —  the  villages  through  which  the 
road  winds,  with  the  different  and  inviting  characteristics  of 
their  inhabitants." 

"  I  must  confess,  these  do  not  tempt  me  as  much  as  the 
wilder  scenes  of  nature ;  and  when  my  friend,  the  road, 
gives  me  an  opportunity  to  pass  around  the  outskirts  of  a 


IN   AMERICA.  35 

village,  I  most  often  prefer  that  which  gives  me  a  distant 
view." 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  dangerous,  Gertrude,  for  us  to  stand 
on  the  edge  of  this  precipice  with  so  great  a  hater  of  his 
species  as  Mr.  Newstead.  There  is  some  danger  in  trusting 
ourselves  to  his  tender  mercies." 

"  You  quite  misunderstand  me,  if  you  think  I  have  not 
a  feeling  for  these,  my  fellow-men.  I  must  only  express  my 
feelings  with  regard  to  the  picturesque.  In  this  landscape, 
for  instance,  the  smoke  from  that  house  hidden  among  the 
trees  adds  to  it  a  great  charm  and  beauty.  But  the  house 
itself,  with  a  glimpse,  perhaps,  of  its  every-day  occupations, 
— such  a  sight  would  take  away  one  of  the  great  characteris 
tics  of  this  landscape,  its  air  of  repose.  But  this  charm  of 
repose  even  is  heightened  by  the  presence  of  friends  who 
can  sympathize  with  us  in  its  delights,  and  make  us  feel  less 
alone,  less  solitary." 

"  And  such  friends,  Mr.  Newstead,  would  answer  for 
another  purpose,  for  such  as  you  and  Gertrude,  —  to  call  you 
back  again  into  the  world.  There  is  Gertrude  in  most 
thoughtful  mood.  She  makes  quite  a  picture,  among  the 
sumachs  and  their  bright  leaves.  It  seems  almost  a  pity  to 
break  in  upon  the  vision  that  she  seems  to  see  far  away 
among  the  hills  upon  the  horizon.  But  if  we  go  down  now, 
we  shall  have  time  to  ford  the  river  just  below  here,  and 
take  the  road,  on  the  other  side,  as  far  as  the  bridge,  below 
the  factories.  We  have  lingered  too  long  to  see  the  factory 
village  at  the  dinner  hour." 

The  way  homewards  was  also  crowned  with  many  beau 
ties  ;  it  kept  along  the  edge  of  the  river.  In  one  place  the 
river  spread  out  into  almost  a  lake.  In  this,  the  opposite 
bank  was  clearly  reflected ;  every  rock  and  tree,  even  flower. 
The  bridge  crossed  the  river  just  where  the  water  poured 


36  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

over  a  broad  dam,  making  a  noisy  cataract.  As  Mr.  New- 
stead  drove  up  the  avenue  to  the  house,  they  met  a  wagon. 
Its  driver  stopped.  "  I  have  just  been  carrying  Miss  Nelly 
Stevens  to  your  house,  Miss  Anna." 

"  Ah  !  then  Miss  Nelly  has  come  back  from  Boston ;  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  her  again." 

"I  shall  come  for  her  this  evening;  I  am  on  my  way  to 
the  factories,  and  will  take  her  back  again." 

"  But,  Miss  Anna,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  you  have  not 
told  us  about  the  robbers.  Why  is  that  little  niche  called 
the  Robbers'  Cave  ? 

"  Don't  you  know  that  in  New  England  every  hill  with 
a  fine  view  is  called  *  Prospect  Hill,'  and  every  hole  in  the 
rocks,  'Robbers'  Cave?'" 

"And  were  there  no  robbers?"  asked  Gertrude,  a  little 
vexed. 

"  Never  within  a  hundred  miles." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

ANNA  greeted  Miss  Nelly  cordially,  as  they  entered  the 
house. 

"  So  you  have  returned  from  Boston,  Miss  Nelly ;  and 
I  suppose  you  must  have  enjoyed  a  great  deal.  I  thought, 
Sunday,  when  I  saw  you  had  not  returned,  that  you  must 
be  having  a  good  time." 

"  Ah,  yes,  Miss  Anna ;  I  found  such  kind  friends,  I  found 
it  hard  to  return.  And,  then,  I  thought  it  was  likely,  at  my 
time  of  life,  I  should  never  have  another  opportunity  for  so 
long  a  journey,  and  I  ought  to  make  a  long  stay;  then 
the  Barneses  were  coming  on  yesterday,  and  they  were  able 


IN    AMERICA.  37 

to  take  care  of  me;  as,  indeed,  they  did>  and  were  very  care 
ful  of  me,  till  I  safely  reached  home  last  night.  And  then 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  quite  got  home,  till  I  had  consulted 
your  mother,  Miss  Anna,  and  had  talked  with  her  of  my 
visit." 

"  You  must  have  many  pleasant  things  to  tell  us,  who 
have,  all  the  time,  been  going  on  so  quietly  at  home." 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  great  and  wonderful  things.  But, 
indeed,  the  most  wonderful  to  me  was,  that  so  old  and 
fragile  a  body  as  I  could  get  over  so  many  miles,  and  back 
again,  so  safely,  and  without  hurt.  Then  it  is  something 
to  learn  there  are  good  hearts  and  kindly  feelings  growing 
in  other  soil,  besides  ours  here  at  home.  Yet,  it  makes  one 
feel  small  to  see  so  many  people  in  the  world,  all  going  their 
own  ways,  and  filling  up  the  streets  and  the  byways." 

"  I  am  glad  if  you  haye  come  home  contented  with  our 
quiet  ways,  and  are  not  going  to  be  longing  to  go  back 
again." 

"  Indeed,  no.  Before  I  went,  it  is  true,  I  was  quite  rest 
less  to  get  away,  and  see  some  of  my  old  friends  once  more ; 
but,  as  I  told  sister  Prudence,  I,  too,  reaped  of  the  fruit  of 
the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  that  is  disappointment ! 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  all  at  once  —  how  my  great  long 
ing  to  get  to  Boston  was,  that  I  might  satisfy  myself  with 
some  new  glasses,  to  help  my  eyesight.  Now,  Miss  Anna, 
will  you  believe  it,  when  I  went  to  choose  me  some  glasses, 
I  was  told  these  would  help  my  eyes  no  longer  —  that  the 
fault  was  not  in  my  poor  glasses,  but  in  my  poor  old  eyes 
—  a  disease  has  stolen  over  them.  Some  of  my  friends  tell 
me  something  may  be  done  for  them  in  the  course  of  time, 
and  that  I  must  wait,  patiently,  till  that  time  comes.  But, 
I  have  been  telling  your  mother  that  I  am  quite  content ;  I 
have  enough,  in  the  remainder  of  my  life,  to  make  me  quite 
4 


38  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

happy.  Don't  look  so  sad,  —  I  can  see  you  are  sad.  Yes, 
as  you  say,  you  will  often  help  me  with  your  young  eyes. 
I  am  very  thankful  now  for  the  old  store  of  hymns  I  learned 
when  I  was  young,  and  which  I  shall  never  grow  weary  of 
repeating.  Sister  Prudence  knows  a  sight  of  poetry ;  she 
will  repeat  me  pieces  by  the  hour  together,  while  she  sits 
at  her  work.  The  neighbors  are  all  so  good.  Miss  Jane 
Brackett,  this  very  morning,  was  telling  me  she  should 
bring  me  her  fine  letters  the  Kavanaghs  send  from  foreign 
parts." 

"  And,  Miss  Nelly,  we  must  renew  our  Sunday  talks." 

"There  is  a  way  of  happiness  open  to  us  all.  Then 
Prudence  is  very  quick  with  her  needle.  It  is  a  long  time 
that  she  has  not  been  willing  I  should  help  her  at  her 
sewing.  A  little  sight  is  left  me  still,  though  this  is  fast 
closing  up ;  but  I  can  see  the  forms  of  things,  and  can  trace 
the  motions  of  your  light  dress." 

Gertrude  was  obliged  to  rest  herself,  after  the  long  drive 
of  the  morning;  and  it  was  not  till  the  end  of  the  afternoon 
that  Anna  could  join  her  in  her  room. 

"  Anna,"  said  Gertrude,  "  as  I  lie  here  so  quietly,  with 
quiet  without,  and  such  peace  as  there  is  within,  I  cannot 
help  almost  regretting  my  days  of  convalescence  that  are 
fast  passing  away,  the  days  when  no  exertion  is  expected 
of  me  as  a  duty,  and  even  thought  of  exertion  is,  perhaps, 
not  allowed.  I  feel  as  if  I  would  almost  welcome  pain, 
rather  than  freedom  from  it,  with  the  necessity  for  activity." 

"  I  remember,  when  we  talked  of  something  like  this 
before,  I  told  you  I  was  reminded  of  something  I  once  copied 
from  Pascal ;  and  I  can  read  it  to  you  now. 

"(A  state  of  illness  is  a  state  natural  to  Christians, 
because  one  is  then  as  one  ought  always  to  be,  suffering 
evil ;  deprived  of  all  the  uses  and  all  the  pleasures  of  the 


IN    AMERICA.  39 

senses ;  free  from  all  those  passions  that  we  struggle  with 
in  the  course  of  life  —  without  ambition,  without  avarice  ; 
in  a  constant  expectation  of  death.  Is  it  not  thus  that 
Christians  ought  to  pass  through  life  ?  And  is  it  not  a 
great  happiness,  when  one  finds  one's  self  in  such  a  state, 
that  one  is  obliged,  and  has  nothing  else  to  do,  than  to 
submit  humbly  and  peaceably  ?  This  is  why  I  ask  nothing 
else  than  to  pray  God  he  may  grant  me  this  favor.'  This 
I  copied,  Gertrude,  to  encourage  me  in  my  days  of  illness ; 
but,  afterwards,  I  wrote  beneath  it  something  that  I  copied 
from  a  review  of  the  life  and  writings  of  Pascal,  that  I  read 
once,  and  liked.  The  passage  begins  with  a  quotation 
from  Jeremy  Taylor.  I  thought  it  ought  to  strengthen  me 
in  my  days  of  activity :  —  'So  long  as  we  are  in  the  retire 
ments  of  sorrow,  of  want,  of  fear,  of  sickness,  we  are  burn 
ing  and  shining  lamps;  but  when  God  lifts  us  from  the 
gates  of  death,  and  carries  us  abroad  into  the  open  air,  to 
converse  with  prosperity  and  temptations,  we  go  out  in 
darkness,  and  we  cannot  be  preserved  in  light  and  heat,  but 
by  still  dwelling  in  the  regions  of  sorrow.'  If  the  mind  be 
well  constituted,  man  will  feel  that  the  learning  how  to 
apply,  in  hours  of  happiness,  the  lessons  which  he  has 
learned  in  the  school  of  sorrow,  is  not  one  of  the  least  diffi 
cult  lessons  which  sorrow  has  to  teach  him ;  not  to  mention 
that  the  grateful  reception  of  God's  gifts  is  as  true  a  part 
of  duty  —  and  even  a  more  neglected  part  of  it  —  than  a 
patient  submission  to  his  chastisements." 

"  You  must  know,  Anna,  what  has  led  me  to  be  thinking 
of  this.  As  I  have  been  lying  here,  I  have  been  thinking 
of  what  I  had  best  do.  I  thank  you  for  what  you  just  read, 
me ;  but,  when  I  tell  you  my  decision,  you  will  see  your 
encouragement  comes  too  late.  I  have  decided,  as  you 
propose,  to  stay  with  you  for  the  present.  To  the  Spensers 


40 


MARGARET    PERC1VAL 


I  cannot  go ;  they  are  people  utterly  distasteful  to  me,  and 
we  never  get  on  together.  Then,  as  to  taking  the  charge 
of  the  house  and  the  care  of  the  girls,  Anna,  I  am  not  strong 
enough  —  my  heart  fails.  You  see  what  a  weak  plant  you 
are  trying  to  support.  By  and  by,  you  will  decide  to  leave 
me,  and  let  me  be  cut  down,  with  the  rest  of  the  flowers 
of  the  field." 

"  Gertrude,  I  do  not  like  those  tears ;  they  are  not  good 
either  for  body  or  mind ;  and  I  tell  you  I  like  the  delicate 
flowers  the  best,  and  I  will  watch  over  them  to  the  best  of 
my  ability,  and  will  water  them  even  with  my  tears.  You 
must  come  down  and  listen  how  Mr.  Newstead  is  talking 
with  Miss  Nelly.  It  pleases  me  more  than  anything  I  have 
yet  seen  of  him,  his  way  of  showing  his  interest  in  her 
story  —  and  he  has  so  pleasantly  drawn  her  away  from 
thinking  of  her  own  sufferings.  They  are  discussing  every 
topic  in  creation ;  and  Miss  Nelly  is  just  now  telling  how 
she  heard  Mr.  Mountford  —  our  Mr.  Mountford  —  preach, 
at  Thursday  lecture." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  DOES  any  one  wish  to  read  ? "  said  Anna,  as  Mary 
entered,  with  a  light,  after  they  had  come  in  from  the  piazza, 
the  same  evening. 

No  one  answered.  Mrs.  Wilkie  was  knitting;  the  rest 
in  a  group  at  the  west  window. 

"  Then,  Mary,  you  need  not  light  the  lamps  yet ;  and," 
she  added,  to  the  sitters  round,  "  we  can  have  a  half  hour 
more  croon,  as  father  is  not  here  to  turn  over  the  papers 


IN    AMERICA.  41 

there.     Mr.  Newstead.  you  have  sunk  into  the  real  twilight 
talk  —  half  voice,  half  whisper." 

"  Is  not  a  whisper  a  voice  ?  " 

"Is  it ?  Not  for  my  purpose,  in  what  I  was  saying  then. 
You  knew  what  I  meant,  and  what  more  is  language  good 
for  ?  Were  you  ever  a  schoolmaster,  that  you  catch  me 
up  so?" 

"  '  In  course,'  I  have  been.  What  New-Englander  has 
not,  who  is  good  for  anything  ? "  he  added,  in  a  mock-modest 
aside.  "  And  a  very  good  schoolmaster  I  was,  too,  as  long 
as  the  mood  lasted." 

"  As  long  as  the  mood  lasted ! "  echoed  both  the  girls. 
"  That  is  just  the  condition,"  added  Anna ;  "  and  how  could 
you  keep  it  up,  and  how  did  you  ?  "  Gertrude  said  nothing. 
She  was  envying  them  all  three  their  experience  —  an  ex 
perience  which  most  educated  women  in  New  England  have 
had,  in  one  form  or  another,  and  to  which  they  always  recur, 
as  to  the  mythic,  or  at  least  the  romantic  period  of  life. 

"  How  long  did  I  keep  it  up  ?  "  answered  he.  "  Have 
not  I  told  you  that  I  am  here  fresh  from  Andrews  and 
Stoddard's  Grammar ;  that  it  is  a  constant  effort  for  me  not 
to  analyze  your  sentences  as  you  utter  them ;  and  that  I  am 
always  speculating  on  subject  and  predicate,  as  I  read  the 
newspapers,  or  even  as  you  read  to  me  the  Bothie  of  Toper- 
na-fuosich  ?  " 

"  You  have  told  us  no  such  thing;  and  the  last  half  of  it 
we  should  not  have  believed,  if  you  had." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  that  ?  That  shows  how  zealously 
I  am  casting  off  all  mention  of  the  things  that  are  behind. 
Yes,  for  two  years,  I  have  been  at  work  in  the  Chichester 
High  School.  I  sent  in  my  resignation  only  a  month  ago 
to-day.  The  new  term  and  the  new  master  began  last 
Monday.  Am  I  accurate  enough  now  ?  " 
4* 


42  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

The  girls  laughed ;  though  there  was  something  in  his 
tone  which  none  of  them  quite  comprehended.  There  was 
not  a  minute's  silence,  however;  for  Anna,  in  her  blunt  way 
of  unravelling  mysteries,  answered  him  directly. 

"  You  are  accurate  enough,  as  far  as  you  go ;  but  perhaps 
we  know  each  other  well  enough,  after  these  very  well- 
spent  hours,  for  me  to  be  presuming  enough  to  venture  to 
propose  —  simply  as  a  suggestion  —  that  it  would  be  grati 
fying,  if  it  were  possible,  (and  not  impertinently  asked,)  if 
your  new  friends  could  know  for  precisely  what  reason  you 
sent  in  your  resignation  as  aforesaid.  Was  there  a  break 
ing  of  the  ferule,  or  a  general  rebellion  ?  Would  the  boys 
keep  their  jackets  off  in  the  school-room,  and  would  the 
committee  approve  it?  Or,  did  the  head  master  quarrel 
with  the  others,  or  the  others  with  him ;  or  — " 

"  Or,"  interrupted  he,  "  did  I  quarrel  with  the  *  they 
say'  circle  of  the  village,  or  did  it  quarrel  with  me  ?  No  ! 
none  of  these  things  happened.  Chichester  is  a  good  sort 
of  place,  and  there  are  good  sort  of  people.  They  made  me 
very  comfortable;  gave  me  enough,  and  not  too  much,  to  do. 
I  had  some  noble  boys  too,  —  fine,  clear-faced,  quick-eyed 
little  fellows,  as  ever  jumped  over  a  bench  or  upset  an 
inkstand.  I  think  I  made  friends  among  them  I  shall  never 
lose,"  —  and  his  voice  fell  again  into  the  gloaming  voice 
a  little.  "  I  was  sorry  to  bid  them  good-by.  Your  true  boy, 

—  reckless,  quick,  sorry  and  brave,  as  need  is,  at  a  flash ; 

—  fair  as  heaven,  as  a  true  boy  is,  —  is  too  good  a  friend  to 
be  lightly  sacrificed."     He  stopped  a  full  minute ;  and  this 
time  the  girls  did  not  interrupt  him. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  you  why  I  left  them.  You 
will  see,  soon  enough,  —  why  should  not  you  know  now?  I 
did  not  believe  quite  enough  in  what  I  was  at  work  on  with 
them.  It  was  good  for  them,  but  not  good  for  me.  Latin 


IN   AMERICA.  43 

and  Greek  are  the  best  of  gymnastics ;  but  they  had  done 
that  work  for  me,  —  braced  up  my  mind's  muscles  and 
nerves,  —  at  least,  I  should  say  so,  if  I  dared,  —  and  I  did  not 
want  to  swing  on  their  parallel  bars  forever."  Down  his 
voice  went  into  a  tone  even  more  soliloquy-like,  just  as  the 
western  light  lost  distinctness  in  the  room.  "  Latin  !  what 
is  it,  even  the  literature,  but  the  work  of  artificial  people, 
who  borrowed  their  best,  and  never  could  return  it  ?  No, 
ladies ;  for  months  past,  —  and  months  are  long,  in  such  a 
mood,  —  I  have  tired  of  Europe,  as  I  told  you  this  morning; 
tired  of  its  history,  its  language,  its  old  and  its  new ;  tired 
of  English  politics  and  of  French  novels ;  tired  of  Louis 
Bonaparte  and  of  Lamartine  — " 

"  Not  of  Kossuth  ? "  flashed  Gertrude. 

"  No ! "  said  he ;  "  thank  you  for  saying  so.  Kossuth  is  no 
European  —  nor  his  race.  He  and  they  are  of  the  East, — 
fresh  from  the  cradle  of  the  world's  life  !  There  is  none  of 
your  French  bedstead  about  them,  or  of  your  English  trun 
dle-bed,  either.  You  have  hit  the  key  of  my  riddle,  Miss 
Gertrude ;  you  see  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  enthusiasm. 
The  longing  for  home  has  come  over  me.  In  the  midst  of 
these  factories,  —  you  saw  it  yesterday,  —  in  the  midst  of 
school-houses,  —  you  might  have  seen  it,  if  you  had  known 
me  a  month  since,  — I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  strange  surround 
ings.  I  was  as  a  boy  at  a  boarding-school.  And  all  the  time 
I  longed  to  go  home,  —  to  the  home  of  everything  that  the 
world  prizes ;  —  to  that  glorious  East.  And,  —  here  was  the 
worst  of  it,  —  every  day,  every  hour,  there  comes  a  letter 
from  home.  I  cannot  read  a  verse  in  the  Bible,  —  but  it  tells 
me  how  fresh  and  true  those  lands  were,  where  God  could 
speak  and  men  could  hear.  I  cannot  write  a  word  without 
the  thought  of  the  country  from  which  writing  came ;  I  read 
Greek  at  school  only  to  remember  the  glorious  Eastern 


4.4  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

languages  which  it  travesties ;  —  I  read  Viri  Romse  with  the 
boys,  to  see,  as  Eliot  teaches  us,  how  Rome  was  the  roller 
to  smooth  down  the  road  over  which  the  car  that  started  at 
Bethlehem  should  travel." 

And  now  he  laughed,  as  one  does  laugh  at  his  own  enthu 
siasm,  and  said,  as  if  he  were  in  joke,  though  he  was  not : 

"  You  see  how  tame  I  think  this  mock  home  of  ours  is. 
My  dream,  as  I  am  willing  to  call  it  —  for  I  helieve  in  some 
dreams — led  me  right  away  from  the  school-room.  I  only 
wish  it  would  lead  me  on  to  Jerusalem.  Men  go  to  Ger 
many  to  study.  I  should  like  to  enter  the  college  at  Tibe 
rias." 

The  girls  listened  with  close  interest  to  this  outbreak,  yet 
with  somewhat  different  feelings.  It  was  so  much  a  burst 
after  Gertrude's  own  heart,  that  she  sat,  even  after  he  had 
ceased  speaking,  with  his  full  dream  fast  becoming  one  of 
her  own.  It  would  be  so  grand  if  one  could  leave  this,  that, 
and  the  other,  at  home,  and  really  sqe  the  lands  which 
seemed  as  the  vases  into  which  the  fountains  of  old  inspira 
tion  fell.  Anna  was  in  a  wholly  different  mood.  The  indif 
ferent  way  in  which  Newstead  spoke  of  leaving  New 
England,  as  if  it  were  the  easiest  matter  to  be  done,  —  as 
if  he  were  so  sadly  cosmopolitan,  that  he  could  go  to  Tibe 
rias  with  as  little  heart-pang  as  to  Cambridge,  for  some  years 
of  study,  troubled  her  warm  home  feeling.  She  was  really 
thinking,  not  of  Palestine,  but  of  him,  —  of  his  orphaned 
life,  his  boarding-school  boyhood,  of  all  the  causes  of  this 
easy  vibration  from  place  to  place,  accompanied  by  so  ready 
a  change  from  plan  to  plan,  —  when  Miss  Nelly  said,  rather 
to  break  the  awkward  silence  : 

"  You  are  really  going  ?     How  soon  ?     And  what  way  ?  " 

"  0  !  that  I  do  not  know.  Do  not  laugh,  Miss  Anna  ;  I 
am  not  unpractical.  When  I  go,  my  arrangements  will  be 


IN   AMERICA.  45 

as  clear  and  methodical  as  one  of  your  friends,  the  over 
seers  yonder,  could  make  his.  See  if  they  are  not ;  though 
I  can  really  hear  the  incredulous  expression  of  your  face  as 
I  speak." 

"  You  hear  a  mistake.  I  dare  say  you  can  pack  a  trunk, 
or  bespeak  your  passage,  as  well  as  any  one.  There  is 
nothing  else  to  do.  We  are  not  Crusaders,  and  you  need 
not  go  in  mail." 

"Thank  you  for  your  better  opinion,  —  better  than  1 
thought  it.  The  real  reason  why  I  have  made  no  definite 
plans  is,  that  I  am  so  practical.  I  do  not  pretend  to  know 
everything,  —  an  evidence  that  I  am  not  all  poet  or  ro 
mancer.  And  now,  the  whole  secret  is  out,  of  my  appear 
ance  here  yesterday.  Your  father  has  given  me  better 
advice,  in  the  last  twenty  years,  than  all  my  other  friends 
together.  I  wish  he  had  been  my  guardian.  (He  would 

not  have  sent  me  to ,  to  college.  But,  no  matter  for 

that.)  I  meant  to  come  here,  on  my  journey,  to  talk  this 
matter  over  with  him.  The  storm  brought  me  here,  as  I 
told  you,  sooner  than  I  had  planned.  I  shall  get  his  advice, 
—  ruminate  on  it  on  my  Green  Mountain  walk,  —  fit  part  to 
part,  and  mortise  to  mortise,  —  and  be  all  ready  to  go  at 
once  to  New  York,  to  sail  upon  the  new  crusade.  Your 
prayers,  ladies,  —  your  good  wishes,  —  and  your  undying 
remembrance  of  the  Wandering  Palmer ! " 

A  clatter  of  wheels  was  heard  on  the  avenue.  It  was  the 
wagon  which  had  returned  for  Miss  Nelly. 

We  need  add  little  to  the  account  which  Arthur  New- 
stead  gave  of  himself  to  Margaret  and  Gertrude.  An 
orphan,  —  with  a  guardian  who  was  faithful  enough  in  the 
care  of  his  little  property,  without  much  thought  of  the 
boy's  education,  excepting  to  see  that  he  was  at  respectable 
schools,  —  he  had  been  left  to  work  out  his  own  opinions,  to 


46  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

indulge  his  own  dreams,  to  find  his  own  friends.  He  had 
passed  through  this  discipline  pure  and  spirited,  but  some 
what  fanciful.  When  he  left  college,  however,  he  showed 
a  sense  of  real  manliness,  in  choosing,  as  he  said,  to  test  his 
own  powers,  by  going  into  the  Chichester  High  School,  as  a 
subordinate  teacher.  He  was  studying  men  and  life  there, 
he  said ;  and  he  was  showing  that  he  was  good  for  some 
thing.  And  it  was  a  matter  of  pride  to  him  that  he  earned 
his  livelihood  without  drawing  at  all  on  the  accumulation 
of  his  little  property. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

ANNA  and  Gertrude  were  standing  with  Mr.  Newstead  on 
the  porch,  the  next  morning,  when  they  saw  a  little  boy, 
quite  out  of  breath,  coming  up  the  avenue. 

"  John  Harvey,"  said  Anna,  "  is  that  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Anna,  I  am  so  out  of  breath !  I  have  just 
walked  over  from  Fairmeadow  to  bring  this  letter.  Mother 
got  home  from  New  York  day  before  yesterday,  and  she 
brought  this  letter  from  Mrs.  Newton  to  Mrs.  Wilkie.  And 
she  forgot  all  about  it  yesterday;  but  this  morning  she  found 
it  in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk,  and  asked  me  to  walk  just  as 
fast  as  I  could,  to  give  it  to  Mrs.  Wilkie,  because  Mrs.  New 
ton  was  in  quite  a  hurry  to  have  Mrs.  Wilkie  get  it." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,  Johnny ;  but  I  am  afraid  you 
have  run  yourself  to  death.  Sit  down  in  the  porch,  and  tell 
me  a  little  about  your  mother's  journey." 

"  I  can't  stop  a  minute,  ma'am.  If  I  walk  fast,  I  can  be 
at  school  in  time.  Only  mother  is  very  sorry,  and  she 
hopes  it  will  not  be  too  late." 


IN   AMERICA.  47 

*•'  Here  is  Uncle  Andrew,  with  his  wagon.  Jump  up  on 
the  seat  with  him,  and  he  will  take  you  to  school  faster  than 
you  can  run ;  and  tell  your  mother  the  letter  came  safely. 
It  is  just  like  Mrs.  Newton,  and  a  great  many  other  people," 
added  Anna,  "  to  send  an  important  letter  by  private  hand." 

Mrs.  Wilkie  opened  the  letter,  and  it  proved  very  interest 
ing  to  both  Anna  and  Gertrude.  It  began  with  sundry- 
pieces  of  New  York  news.  But  Mrs.  Newton  then  passed 
on  to  some  intelligence  she  had  received  from  England, 
which  had  quite  startled  her,  and  led  her  to  ask  Mrs.  Wil- 
kie's  advice.  The  Stantons,  Mrs.  Newton's  relations  in 
England,  were  friends  of  the  Percivals ;  and  they  wrote 
Mrs.  Newton  that  Margaret  Percival,  whose  father  was  now 
dead,  and  whose  uncle  was  going,  Mrs.  Newton  did  not  quite 
understand  where,  was  just  embarking  for  America.  The 
Stantons  were  interested  in  a  young  woman  going  out  alone 
in  this  way,  as  it  were,  to  seek  her  fortune;  and  they  rubbed 
up  an  old  correspondence,  by  writing  to  Mrs.  Newton,  to 
ask  her  to  offer  what  advice  and  assistance  she  could  to  the 
stranger,  when  she  should  arrive  in  New  York. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mrs.  Newton,  "  this  letter  has  come  in 
a  most  perverse  time.  Mr.  Newton  is  still  at  the  south, 
which  is  one  reason  why  1  did  not  receive  the  Stantons'  let 
ter  sooner,  for  it  has  been  some  weeks  at  his  office  unopened. 
Isabel  is  quite  out  of  health  ;  and  we  are  just  in  the  midst 
of  our  plans  for  our  country-seat,  which  Mr.  Newton  wishes 
to  put  in  progress  this  winter,  that  we  may  get  out  of  town 
early  in  the  spring,  and  not  be  so  exposed  to  fever,  and  all 
kinds  of  illness,  as  we  have  been  the  last  summer.  Each 
of  the  children  has  had  its  turn  of  fever ;  and  I  myself  have 
been  quite  laid  up  —  all  of  us  are  quite  unfit  for  the  coming 
winter's  siege.  And  now,  dear  Mrs.  Wilkie,  here  comes 
this  new  care,  —  it  never  rains  but  it  pours.  What  am  I  to 


48  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

do  with  an  English  woman  ?  Coming  out,  I  have  no  doubt, 
all  prepared  to  write  a  book  about  us  all !  I  can  never  ven 
ture  to  ask  her  to  come  and  stay  with  me  ;  and,  as  for  even 
giving  her  a  party,  as  things  are  now,  I  don't  know  how  I 
can  manage  it.  If  Isabel  were  a  little  younger,  I  might  be 
disposed  to  have  Miss  Percival  with  us  a  few  weeks,  as 
governess ;  but  the  house  now  is  filled  half  the  time  with 
Isabel's  masters,  —  and  then  Mr.  Newton  has  prejudices 
against  a  governess.  I  shall  ask  some  of  my  friends  if  they 
know  of  any  place  for  her ;  meanwhile,  I  remember  that 
Mr,  Wilkie  has  been  very  kind  in  finding  situations  for 
young  people  in  want  of  employment;  and  I  write  to 
ask  you  if  you  do  not  think  you  can  help  me  in  this  affair. 
What  the  country  is  to  do  with  the  vast  amount  of  emigrants 
that  are  pouring  here,  I  surely  do  not  know ;  and  it  is  a  sub 
ject  that  has  exercised  Mr.  Newton  a  great  deal.  I  have 
always  thought,  if  the  responsibility  ever  came  upon  me,  I 
should  say  to  any  of  these  persons  I  met  landing  on  our 
shore,  *  Turn  round  —  go  directly  back  again.'  But  I  sup 
pose  it  would  hardly  be  the  part  of  hospitality  to  say  this  to 
Miss  Percival.  Mrs.  Stanton  seems  to  think  I  have  heard 
of  Miss  Percival  before ;  and  I  have  an  idea  she  is  some 
authoress.  I  hope  she  is  not  young.  Poor  thing !  I  dare 
say  she  has  heard  great  stories  of  America,  and  fancies  she 
can  pick  up  gold  in  the  streets." 

"  Poor  thing,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie,  as  she  finished 
reading  the  letter,  "  if  she  has  indeed  come  out  without  any 
prospect  of  a  home !  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Wilkie  will  be 
able  to  give  Mrs.  Newton  some  advice  on  the  subject.  He 
will  be  likely  to  see  her  in  New  York." 

"  Mr.  Wilkie  is  just  the  person,"  said  Gertrude,  "  to  do 
something  for  Miss  Percival ;  but,  then,  I  don't  think  he  is 


IN    AMERICA.  49 

much  interested  in  Margaret  Percival.  Do  you  think  he  is, 
ma'am  ? " 

"  If  he  finds  she  is  here  without  home  or  friends,  he  will 
be  inclined  to  do  something  for  her." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  can  almost  assure  you 
that  you  will  see  Miss  Percival  here,  before  many  weeks 
are  out.  It  will  be  Mr.  Wilkie's  first  impulse  to  bring  her 
to  his  own  home,  and  he  is  not  a  person  to  stop  and  calcu 
late  the  pros  and  cons  of  such  a  measure." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Anna,  "  I  should  not  at  all  wonder  if  my 
father  brought  Miss  Percival  home  with  him." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  Mrs.  Newton  does 
not  seem  disposed  to  exert  herself  to  any  great  extent." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie,  "  Mrs.  Newton  is  kind- 
hearted,  and  if  she  could  decide  what  were  best  to  be  done, 
would,  I  have  no  doubt,  exert  herself  to  help  on  any  one  in 
distress." 

"  If  I  should  really  see  Margaret  Percival,"  exclaimed 
Gertrude,  "  it  would  make  me  very  happy.  I  have  thought 
of  her  so  much,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  know  if  she  is  at  all 
like  my  ideal  of  her." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "I  have  no  doubt  you 
will  be  disappointed.  From  what  I  have  heard  of  Miss 
Percival,  I  should  think  she  was  a  person  who  thought  a 
great  deal,  and,  quite  likely,  says  little,  —  the  last  person 
one  would  choose  for  a  companion." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Newstead,  you  must  allow  such  a  person  ought 
to  be  valued  more  for  a  companion,  —  a  person  who  really 
has  some  inward  life." 

"I  only  know  it  is  dangerous   to   expect  too  much  of 

the  common  run  of  people.     If  they  have  devoted  so  very 

much  of  their  time  to  an  inward  life,  the  chances  are,  they 

have  less  power  of  expressing  it  in  an  outward  life.     There 

5 


50  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

is  a  similar  desire  to  see  great  authors  and  writers.  You 
ought  to  consider  that  they  are  famous  for  having  just  that 
peculiar  method  of  expressing  themselves ;  and  it  is  expect 
ing  altogether  too  much  to  ask  them  to  be  agreeable  and 
expressive  in  other  ways,  —  talkers  and  companions,  for  ex 
ample.  An  artist  devotes  all  his  energy  towards  expressing 
his  ideal  in  one  way  on  the  canvas.  Because  he  can  give 
you  the  lights  and  shadows  of  nature  in  a  beautiful  land 
scape,  the  last  thing  you  ought  to  expect  of  him  is,  that  he 
should  become  a  poet  too,  and  discourse  to  you  of  such 
things  in  a  way  to  fascinate  you.  It  is  the  same  with  an 
actor :  he  has  devoted  his  talent  of  expressing  himself  to 
bringing  out  such  and  such  characters ;  if  you  look  at  him 
off  the  stage,  he  is  neither  one  nor  the  other ;  and  you  have 
to  look  pretty  hard  to  find  anything  in  the  poor  man  by 
himself." 

"  That  may  be,  Mr.  Newstead,"  said  Anna,  "  a  very 
pretty  theory  to  talk  about ;  but  an  artist  becomes  so  from 
his  taste  for  everything  that  is  beautiful." 

"But  it  is  his  power  of  expression  that  I  am  speaking  of, 
and, — not  to  let  you  have  the  last  word, — I  will  allow  there 
are  exceptions,  —  exceptions  in  favor  of  genius,  —  which 
will  grasp  at  everything.  I  was  speaking  of  every-day 
people.  A  woman's  life,  for  instance,  is  beautiful,  just  in 
its  position,  like  a  cameo  in  its  setting.  Miss  Percival,  who 
went  through  her  duties  respectably  towards  the  people 
around  her,  —  take  her  away,  and  make  her  a  lioness,  and 
call  upon  her  powers  of  conversation,  —  it  is  like  cutting  a 
bas  relief  from  a  wall,  in  the  hope  of  finding  something  as 
beautiful  on  the  other  side." 

"  Nobody  wants  to  make  a  lion  of  Miss  Percival,"  said 
Gertrude,  indignantly,  breaking  off  the  conversation. 

"  And  I,"  said  Anna,  "  must  say,  notwithstanding,  that  I 


IN    AMERICA.  51 

have  found  an  artist  a  highly  agreeable  companion,  and 
have  heard  an  author  entertain  a  moderate  sized  room  full 
of  people ;  and  I  would  be  glad  to  ask  a  poet  of  my  acquaint 
ance  to  take  our  moonlight  ramble  with  us  to-night." 

"  I  see  I  should  stand  no  chance  with  you,  if  he  came;  so 
you  must  let  me  rejoice  that  he  is  not  here." 

"  I  do  think,"  said  Gertrude,  afterwards,  "  that  Mr.  New- 
stead  can  make  himself  perfectly  disagreeable." 

"  Now,"  said  Anna,  "  you  must  not  abuse  Mr.  Newstead 
too  much ;  do  you  know  I  think  he  is  like  you,  in  a  great 
many  things  ?  " 

"  Anna,  you  are  really  too  bad ! " 

"And  I,  too,"  said  Anna,  laughing,  "perhaps  have  the 
same  power  of  making  myself  disagreeable,  by  comparing 
you  to  him !  But,  remember  how  you  praised  him  up,  last 
night.  We  certainly  have  found  some  pleasant  things  in 
him.  But,  Gertrude,  my  mother  and  I  had  a  little  serious 
talk  about  Mrs.  Newton's  letter,  and  she  thinks,  and, 
indeed,  I  agree  with  her,  that  it  is  quite  possible  that  my 
father  will  see  Mrs.  Newton,  and  become  interested  irr  Mar 
garet  Percival's  fate.  He  knows  how  much  my  mother  has 
been  led  to  think  of  the  history  of  Miss  Percival's  past  life, 
since  she  has  known  it  was  a  true  history ;  and  she  has 
almost  determined  to  write  to  my  father,  or  Mrs.  Newton, 
or  both,  to  propose  her  coming  here,  and  to  add  a  letter  to 
Miss  Percival  to  urge  it.  Since  she  has  heard  Margaret 
Percival  is  motherless,  she  has  been  the  more  drawn  towards 
her." 

"  How  glad  I  am  there  is  likely  to  be  such  a  home  for 
frer!" 


MARGARET   PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER    IX. 

ANNA  and  Gertrude  sat  by  a  rock  upon  the  river-side. 
They  had  left  the  house,  had  crossed  the  road,  and  clam 
bered  down  the  hill-side,  till  they  reached  a  pleasant  spot, 
where  the  autumn  sun  shone  in. 

"  How  very  strange,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  Margaret 
Percival  should  be  really  coming  to  America !  And  she  is 
coming,  perhaps,  to  seek  some  rest,  some  repose.  Is  it  not 
Anna,  something  like  the  feeling  that  leads  Mr.  Newstead 
to  long  to  go  back  to  the  old  eastern  land,  —  a  feeling  that 
somewhere  else,  one  may  find  a  spot  fitted  for  one's 
ambition  ? " 

"  Yes,  Gertrude,  a  feeling  that  I,  at  times,  sympathize 
in.  I  could  easily  learn  to  say  what  Rabia,  one  of  the  holy 
women  of  Arabia,  said.  When  she  reached  the  Mecca  that 
had  been  the  place  all  her  holy  thoughts  had  aspired  to,  — 
so  Milnes  tells  the  legend,  —  she  cried  out :  — 

*  Oh,  heart !  weak  follower  of  the  weak, 
That  thou  shouldst  traverse  land  and  sea, 

In  this  far  place,  that  God  to  seek, 
Who,  long  ago,  had  come  to  thee.' 

In  my  better  moments,  I  feel  that  there  is  as  much  inspi 
ration  for  devotion  and  a  life  of  devotedness,  in  my  daily 
life,  as  in  any  other  way  of  living ;  even,  Gertrude,  in  the 
holy  cell  of  a  nun." 

"  But,  Anna,  there  is  a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  that  I 
must  express.  I  don't  want  to  bring  up  again  the  woman 
question,  but  I  want  to  speak  of  my  own  trials  and  doubts. 
Just  think  how  little  time  or  opportunity  is  offered  to  a 


IN    AMERICA.  53 

woman  to  devote  herself  to  any  one  art,  or  study,  or  pur 
suit  !  Her  life  seems  to  me  a  frittering  away  of  effort ;  and 
how  seldom  is  anything  accomplished  —  how  superficial 
seem  all  our  labors  !  " 

"It  is  rather  a  sad  thought  to  think  how  superficial  our 
knowledge  is ;  and  one's  ambition  is,  indeed,  excited,  when 
one  hears  of  a  woman  who,  now  and  then,  has  successfully 
devoted  herself  to  one  great  object.  But  when,  as  you  say, 
I  come  back  to  myself,  I  confess  I  do  not  know  what  1 
would  give  up  of  my  superficial  education.  I  daily  thank 
my  old  German  teacher  for  his  patience  with  my  drawing- 
lessons,  though,  after  his  and  my  many  efforts,  I  am  afraid 
I  could  not  give  even  you  a  satisfactory  outline  of  Gray- 
peak,  yonder.  Perhaps  the  time  might  have  been  employed 
in  something  I  have  a  greater  talent  for ;  but  I  would  not, 
for  anything,  give  up  the  help  it  has  given  me  in  appre 
ciating  the  sunsets  of  every  night ;  and  I  thank  those  hours, 
because  they  have  given  me  courage  to  read  and  enjoy 
deeply  the  true,  beautiful  descriptions  of  our  friend  of  the 
Modern  Painters." 

"  Yes,  that  I  believe ;  nor  would  I  give  up  my  many 
hours  of  practising  at  the  piano.  There  is  one  thing  I  can 
thank  them  for,  Anna,  —  that  at  twilight  1  can  give  your 
mother  so  much  comfort,  when,  for  once,  she  takes  some 
rest,  and  seems  pleased  with  my  little  efforts." 

"  And  how  these  hours  of  merely  the  study  of  the  alpha 
bet  of  music  have  helped  us  in  listening  to  its  great  poems, 
—  to  Beethoven  and  Mendelssohn !  I  have  only  wished  my 
thorough  bass  lessons  had  come  to  me  earlier  in  life ;  they 
would  have  absolutely  enticed  me  into  mathematics,  that  in 
my  school  days  I  so  sadly  avoided.  But,  back  to  our  sub 
ject,  Gertrude.  I  believe  we  do  not  think  very  differently ; 
only,  1  would  have  my  '  perfect  woman'  know  a  little  of 
5* 


54  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

everything,  —  and  yet  she  need  not  know  it  superficially. 
For  I  have  a  theory  that  a  study  of  any  one  thing  helps  us 
on  in  something  else ;  as  I  have  found  that  a  steady  prac 
ticing  at  the  piano  for  some  time  has  made  my  hand  more 
firm  afterwards  in  drawing;  and  I  have  studied  the  more 
vigorously  on  my  German,  hoping  that  my  study  will  help 
on,  meanwhile,  my  Italian,  that  is  lying  neglected,  alas ! 
How  much  Jane  Brackett  and  I  enjoyed  puzzling  over  our 
translation,  that  we  made  with  so  much  difficulty,  of 
Goethe's  Metamorphosis  of  Plants !  And  how  my  enjoy 
ment  was  renewed,  when  I  was  able  to  read  it  to  my  father, 
and  he  took  such  pleasure  in  hearing  it !  I  remember,  Jane 
told  me  she  could  read  Italian  better,  after  some  hard  study 
of  German,  because  it  required  a  similar  exercise  of  her 
mind.  We  know  it  is  so  in  science,  that  the  botanist  finds 
that,  besides  the  study  of  all  other  natural  history,  he  must 
call  in  the  help  of  mathematics,  and  may  even  find  that  the 
laws  that  he  is  studying  may  be  the  same  that  are  ruling 
the  course  of  the  stars. 

"  But,  as  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned,  perhaps  it  would 
be  safe  for  me  to  speak  only  of  myself;  —  I  feel  as  if  it  were 
better  for  me  not  to  turn  away  from  any  study  that  opens 
itself  to  me.  There  is  so  much  time  in  this  world !  And 
we  may  find  time,  by  and  bye,  to  finish  what  we  are  begin 
ning  feebly  now." 

"  I  remember  I  almost  envied  you  that  you  were  able  to 
help  little  Neddy  Brackett  about  his  Virgil." 

"  And  yet,  how  little  I  was  in  advance  of  him !  It  makes 
me  sigh,  indeed,  to  think  of  how  little  one  knows,  and  how 
much  there  is  to  be  known !  But  you  see  I  would  have  my 
'perfect  woman'  begin  with  a  broad  foundation,  in  the  fond 
hope  that,  some  time  or  other,  in  some  world  or  other,  there 
would  be  a  glorious,  complete  structure  !  The  more  various 


IN   AMERICA.  OO 

one's  knowledge  is,  the  more  opportunities  one  has  to  sympa 
thize  with  others." 

"  How  beautiful,  how  perfect,  this  delicate  green  fern  is ! 
As  perfect  and  complete  as  you  would  have  your  perfect 
woman.  And  this  pale  white  one,  growing  by  its  side  — 
poor  thing !  it  has  failed,  I  am  afraid,  and  its  strength  was 
not  great  enough  to  keep  its  life  and  greenness." 

"  Yet  you  admire  and  love  it  enough  to  open  for  it  your 
Emerson's  Essays,  that  has  been  closed  to  everything  else, 
until  now.  After  all,  it  is  not  the  approach  to  strength  or 
perfection  that  wins  us  most.  How  much  peace  and  happi 
ness  a  patient  invalid  may  spread  through  a  household! 
We  have  neither  of  us  such  a  life  to  look  forward  to,  and 
should  probably  mourn  heavily  if  we  had  such  a  prospect. 
But  how  great  an  influence  of  love  and  gentleness  is  spread 
by  a  delicate,  gentle,  suffering  invalid!  And  how  many 
greater  causes  of  unhappiness  there  are  than  sickness 
offers !  When  I  speak  of  sickness  in  this  way,  I  am  think 
ing  of  its  personal  influence  upon  one's  self.  I  know  it  is 
one  of  the  greatest  of  sorrows,  to  see  a  being  one  loves,  suf 
fering  under  sickness,  and  not  to  have  the  power  to  give 
strength.  But,  on  looking  back  upon  my  life,  —  upon  its 
hours  of  sickness,  —  those  hours  that  some  dear  friend  of 
mine  would  fain  have  prayed  away  beforehand,  —  to  these 
I  feel  I  owe  much  of  my  strength  and  power  of  patience. 
They  were  my  hours  of  fitting  myself  for  battle,  the 
sources  of  many  of  my  best  resolutions,  and  have  done 
much  for  my  character." 

"  Perhaps  in  that  way  I  shall  look  back  to  the  hours  I 
have  passed  here.  I  know  I  shall  look  back  to  them  as  to 
my  happiest  hours.  I  am  very  glad  Margaret  Percival  may 
perhaps  make  her  first  acquaintance  with  America  in  such 
a  home  as  yours.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  so  happy  and 


56  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

gay  a  home,  —  every  one  taking  so  deep  an  interest  in  each 
other's  occupations.  In  that  way,  Anna,  I  have  learned  a 
great  deal.  I  feel  that  I  have  lived  in  a  great  part  selfishly, 
and  have  kept  all  my  sources  of  joy  to  myself.  It  is  a  new 
pleasure,  this  of  looking  out,  for  instance,  upon  a  beautiful 
landscape,  with  one  who  sympathizes  with  me  as  you  do, 
Anna.  I  have  a  new  association  with  all  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  the  remembrance  of  this  rock,  and  the  river 
washing  it  below,  will  always  have  mingled  with  it  the 
many  thoughts  we  have  had  together  here,  and  the  moments 
of  sympathy  passed  here.  You  will  bring  Margaret  Perci- 
val  to  this  pretty  spot,  when  she  comes." 

"  O,  yes,  Gertrude  ;  if  she  is  in  search  of  a  home,  we  must 
do  our  best  to  help  her  to  find  one  among  us.  You  must 
get  quite  strong  again,  that  we  may  show  her,  together,  all 
the  beautiful  walks  we  can  find.  She  is,  apparently,  a  great 
walker,  and  we  will  take  her  up  hill  and  down  the  dales. 
She  shall  see  all  the  fine  views  in  the  country  about.  Then 
she  shall  be  intimately  acquainted  with  Miss  Nelly  Stevens. 
And  I  will  carry  her  to  the  district  school,  and  she  shall  see 
the  bright,  happy  faces  of  the  children,  and  hear  their  merry 
voices.  And  you  must  do  all  this ;  —  bat  first,  you  will 
have  to  get  back  all  your  strength,  and  you  must  not  stay 
out  longer  now.  We  must  climb  up  the  path  slowly,  —  do 
not  look  back  till  we  reach  the  top.  There  is  a  place  to 
which  I  used  to  wish  we  might  move  the  house,  the  view 
of  the  valley  is  so  beautiful  from  it.  And  now,  you  know, 
we  have  it  all  shut  out  by  the  trees  and  the  orchard.  You 
cannot  think,  Gertrude,  how  much  attached  I  am  to  this 
spot ;  yet  it  is  only  four  or  five  years  that  we  have  been 
here,  and  then  it  seemed  to  me  so  hard  to  leave  our  old 
home  and  our  old  friends.  I  wonder  if  it  is  as  hard  for 
Miss  Percival  to  banish  herself." 


IN   AMERICA.  57 

"  I  should  think  she  had  very  warm  feelings." 

"  And  yet  she  was  able  to  forsake  the  death-bed  of  her 
friend,  because  she  could  not  trust  her  soul  meanwhile  to 
God.  You  would  think  hardly  of  any  one,  who  left  a  dying 
friend,  from  fear  of  catching  some  disease  of  the  body ;  — 
does  it  not  seem  very  weak  to  fear  to  trust  one's  soul  to 
God's  care  by  the  side  of  one  who  is  so  near  to  God  as  to 
be  on  the  threshold  of  his  kingdom  ?  But,  Gertrude,  I  for 
get  myself,  when  I  talk  so  harshly,  —  I  forget  that  Miss 
Percival  is  a  real  being.  When  she  does  come  here,  —  if 
she  should  come  here,  —  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  interested 
in  her  too." 

"  Indeed,  I  know  you  will,  Anna  ;  and  if  she  is  weak,  and 
wants  strength,  the  more  you  will  support  her.  I  wonder 
how  she  will  look,  —  if  she  will  like  us." 

"  I  think  she  will  take  more  to  you  than  she  will  to  me. 
I  am  afraid  she  will  be  surprised  at  a  great  many  things 
here.  Let  us  hurry  home ;  I  think  we  may  find  some  news 
from  my  father  at  the  house." 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  mail,  in  fact,  brought  two  letters  to  Mrs.  Wilkie  from 
her  husband,  which  we  copy  at  full  length,  as  they  best 
explain  themselves. 

MR.  WILKIE    tO    MRS.    WILKIE. 

!"  Steamboat  Connecticut, 
Somewhere  off  Throws  Neck,  Tuesday,  P.  M. 

"Mv  DEAR  WIFE:  — 

"  You  must  accept  this  indefinite  date  as  the  best  attain 
able,  at  this  writing,  by  any  one  on  board,  from  the  chamber- 


58  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

maid,  who  answers  the  ladies'  perpetual  questions,  in  their 
cabin,  up  to  the  captain,  who  answers  nobody's  at  all.  In  fact, 
we  have  made  a  miserable  day  of  it.  I  should  have  been  in 
New  York  before  this,  if  I  had  staid  at  home  twelve  hours 
longer,  and  taken  the  cars  instead  of  the  boat ;  for,  since 
midnight,  we  have  been  befogged.  Our  bell  has  been  rung 
from  epoch  to  epoch,  as  a  charitable  suggestion  to  oyster- 
smacks  to  keep  themselves  from  collision.  Our  engine  has 
moved  slowly  when  it  could,  but  we  have  advanced  but  little. 
It  is  only  just  now  that  the  light  is  increasing,  and  that  we 
begin  to  promise  ourselves  a  supper  on  land. 

"  For  myself,  I  should  have  foundered  wholly,  had  I  not 
had  this  Margaret  Percival  book,  which  you  tucked  into  my 
coat-pocket,  which  has  just  kept  me  afloat  in  the  ocean  of 
dulness  of  these  seventeen  mortal  hours.  And,  for  you, 
rny  dear,  I  think  you  will  be  indebted  to  this  fog  for  the  first 
literary  letter  you  have  had  from  your  husband  since  the 
day  that  made  us  one.  I  remember  there  were  times  when 
I  wrote  you,  at  some  length,  my  views  on  Wordsworth's 
Excursion,  and  Count  Robert  of  Paris  ;  but,  somehow,  that 
class  of  letters  has  died  out,  of  late. 

"  I  say  *  Margaret  Percival'  has  just  kept  me  afloat. 
Clearly,  I  am  older  than  I  was,  or  I  could  say  more.  For, 
as  I  told  you,  the  boys  devoured  the  book  with  enthusiasm  ; 
and  I  think  Gertrude  read  it  in  the  same  way.  With  me 
—  alas  !  —  it  would  be  six  or  eight  pages'  reading,  and  then 
a  brisk  walk  on  the  promenade  deck, — then,  the  black 
stewardess  would  come  up,  and  beg  me  to  remember  the 
ladies  trying  to  sleep  under  the  thump  of  my  boots,  —  then, 
ten  pages  more  of  Margaret  Percival, — then,  a  long  talk 
with  some  emigrants  on  the  forward  deck,  till  a  rain-shower 
drove  me  in,  —  ten  pages  more  of  Margaret  Percival,  — 
then,  a  chaffer  by  the  wheel-house,  with  the  loafers  there, 


IN    AMERICA.  59 

till  the  captain  civilly  warned  us  away,  —  ten  pages  more 
of  Margaret  Percival,  —  breakfast,  at  last,  —  ten  pages  more 
of  Margaret  Percival,  —  and  so,  through  the  day,  it  has  been 
my  reserved  corps. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  shame  to  laugh,  as  if  it  had  not  been  a  very 
effective  reserved  corps.  I  like  it  better  and  better;  and 
have  thought  a  good  deal  of  it,  and  the  state  of  society  and 
religion  which  could  have  produced  such  circumstances,  and 
such  a  woman.  In  truth,  my  dear,  it  is  not  the  fog,  it  is 
Margaret  Percival  herself,  to  whom  you  owe  this  letter. 
That  very  respectable,  sincere,  hard-working  Pope,  her  uncle, 
who  bids  her  to  and  fro  as  he  thought  right,  interests  me  as 
every  vigorous  man  does.  For  his  sake,  I  am  glad  it  was 
not  the  nephew  George  who  took  the  Popish  turn ;  for,  I  am 
afraid  a  young  man  of  twenty  would  riot  have  been  quite  so 
submissive  as  a  girl  of  five  and  twenty.  But,  Margaret  her 
self  pleases  me  most.  The  '  Lamp  of  Obedience '  is  a  very 
good  lamp  out  of  the  seven;  and  the  good  girl  keeps  it 
trimmed  and  burning.  To  be  sure,  I  think  she  could  have 
kept  some  other  lamps  burning  side  by  side  with  it ;  but,  she 
did  her  duty  as  she  understood  it,  and  angels  do  no  more. 

"The  hits  at  Dissent,  the  talk  about  descending  as  low 
as  the  Dissenters,  and  all  that,  does  not  affect  me  as  you 
feared  it  would.  I  neither  threw  the  book  into  the  Sound, 
nor  into  the  stove,  when  I  came  to  them.  They  are  the 
natural  result  of  the  author's  position;  they  are  to  be 
taken  as  simply  as  one  takes  the  language  in  which  the 
book  is  written.  They  are  as  unconsciously  used  as  is  any 
local  idiom  by  a  person  bred  to  it.  And,  just  as  I  read  a 
French  book  without  impatience  with  the  author,  though 
I  detest  the  French  language  in  itself,  so  do  I  read  Miss 
Sewell's,  —  esteeming  her  as  a  pious,  sincere  woman,  though 
she  has  a  trick  of  talk,  when  a  Dissenter,  or  an  Independent, 


60  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

or  a  Unitarian,  crosses  her  way.  She  is  wholly  unaware  of 
the  force  or  the  origin  of  the  style  of  language  she  uses ; 
and  especially  here,  where  she  is  combating  the  Romanists. 

"  To  come  back  to  Margaret  herself.  Such  a  woman  did 
need  the  training  which  God's  Providence  has  given  her.  I 
have  no  idea  that  that  Providence  is  done  with  her  there. 
She  was  not  sent  into  the  world  merely  to  get  a  brother 
through  Oxford,  and  rest  on  a  line  of  religious  faith  into 
whose  foundations  she  is  ordered  by  her  spiritual  physi 
cians  not  to  inquire.  True,  she  was  willing  to  satisfy  her 
self  with  the  sacrifice  this  effort  required,  as  long  as  the 
effort  lasted.  She  has  made  the  sacrifice,  made  the  effort, 
in  a  very  womanly  arid  faithful  way.  But  what  next? 
One  sees  that  she  had  every  young  girl's  impatient  feeling 
for  a  mission,  —  the  wish  to  be  a  Maria  d'Escobar,  or  a  Mad 
ame  Guyon,  or  a  Margaret  Fuller,  or  a  Sister  of  Charity. 
That  appears  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  biography.  (For 
biography,  as  you  say,  it  clearly  is.)  Here  is  the  reason 
why  your  Sunday-school  girls  read  it,  why  Gertrude  reads 
it,  why  the  pale  girl  from  boarding-school,  opposite  me,  as 
I  write  here  in  the  saloon,  is  reading  her  copy  now.  But, 
just  on  that  point  of  interest,  the  book  leaves  her  where  it 
found  her.  What  shall  a  young  woman  do,  with  this  ear 
nest  desire  for  a  field  of  life  ?  It  states  the  question  well. 
And  fifty  thousand  girls,  fresh  from  school,  clutch  hold  of  it, 
as  pale-face  yonder  does,  because  it  states  the  question ;  — 
they  read  on  and  on,  —  it  turns  out,  that  Margaret  fits  her 
brother  for  the  Church.  There  was  her  answer  to  the 
question.  But  what  then  ?  Why,  there  the  book  ends  ! 

"  '  Happiness  for  to-day,'  are  the  last  words.  And  what 
for  to-morrow  ? 

"  What  a  tirade  I  have  written  !  But,  for  once,  I  can  write 
as  I  think,  without  being  stopped  to  talk  about  indigo  or  long 


IN   AMERICA.  61 

staple,  or  to  listen  to  first-hands  or  overseers.  What  all 
this  is  driving  at,  is  this :  that  I  have  a  feeling  which  I 
overheard  Gertrude  expressing  to  Anna.  I  should  like  to 
see  and  talk  with  this  Uncle  Sutherland,  and  Margaret,  and 
George,  and  all  of  them ;  and  as  that  cannot  be,  I  mean  to 
write  to  them,  if  I  ever  gain  a  half-hour  to  do  so. 

"  I  hear  you  laugh,  as  you  read  these  words.  I  hear  you 
say,  that  I  shall  not  write  to  them  till  I  am  again  befogged 
on  Long  Island  Sound ;  and  then,  only  if  I  have  no  Presi 
dent's  Message  to  read.  Laugh  away,  if  you  please.  Only 
see  if,  when  I  come  back,  I  do  not  tell  you  that  I  have  been 
to  Appleton's  bookstore,  or  to  Dr.  Wainwright,  or  somebody 
who  will  know,  to  find  out  Margaret  Percival's  address,  and 
her  uncle's,  in  England. 

"  Hurrah !  there  is  sunlight !  The  fog  sweeps  off  as 
strangely  as  it  comes  on.  I  will  close  this  long  letter  now, 
that  I  may  mail  it  as  we  go  up  town.  My  love  to  all.  Hurl- 
gate  is  in  sight.  Ever  yours. 


MR.   WILKIE    TO    MRS.    WILKIE. 

"  New  York  Hotel, 
Wednesday,  P.  M. 

"My  DEAR  WIFE:  — 

"I  doubt,  if,  after  all  my  pains  yesterday,  you  receive  a 
certain  literary,  theological,  meditativo-enthusiastical  letter, 
which  I  wrote  yesterday  on  the  Sound,  much  before  this. 
They  will  probably  go  on  in  the  same  mail-bag.  We 
arrived  in  time  for  tea  last  evening. 


"If  the  letter  aforesaid,  my  No.  1,  has  amused  you,  it  has 
also  prepared  you  to  hear  that  I  have  made  search  for  the 
whereabouts  of  a  certain  Dr.  Sutherland  and   his   niece, 
6 


62  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

Miss  Margaret  Percival.  In  very  fact,  I  went  down  town 
this  morning,  with  the  name  of  Appleton's  bookstore  full 
on  my  tablets,  that  I  might  not  forget  to  inquire.  But  be 
fore  I  came  there,  that  fortune  that  favors  the  brave, say, 

rather,  that  reward  which  waits  on  all  true  virtue, flung 

my  jewel  of  information  sought  in  my  way,  and  rewarded 
my  quest  with  the  real  prize  itself,  in  a  way  which  could 
hardly  have  been  fore-dreamed. 

"  Thus  happened  it :  —  As  you  bade  me,  I,  obedient,  went 
to  call  at  the  Newtons',  to  tell  them,  this  time,  that  1  was  at 
New  York.     Mournfully  did  I  await  Mrs.  Newton's  appear- 
ance ;  for  I  knew  she  would  ask  why  I  had  been  away  from 
New  York  so  long,  and  I  knew  I  must  confess  that  I  had 
spent  four  several  weeks  in  the  city,  this  spring  and  sum 
mer,  without  the  opportunity  of  renewing  our  tender  inti 
macy.     With  such  thoughts  as  these  did  I  await;  but  with 
no  such  questioning  did  she  appear.     She  was  overjoyed 
to  see  me,  —  that,  of  course,  — but  just  now,  especially  over 
joyed  ;  for  she  had  written,  only  a  day  or  two  before,  to  dear 
Mrs.  Wilkie,  (you,)  a  letter  about  a  very  troublesome  affair, 
which  had  really  robbed  her  of  her  rest,  — and  which  she 
had   been  so  rude  as  to  thrust  on  you,  — and  which  she 
really  was  ashamed  of,  and  which  she  really  did  not  under 
stand,  etc.,  etc.,  —  (you  know  how,)  —  till  it  came  out  that 
actually  she  is  a  correspondent  of  the  Percivals,  and  at  that 
very  moment  was  in  mortal  dread  that  the  packet  Curran 
might  be  coming  up  the  bay  with  Margaret  Percival  on 
board,  consigned  to  her  very  care,  578  Green-place,  west  of 
Broadway.     All  which,  she  says,  she  explained  to  you.     I 
trust  she  explained  it  better  than  to  me;  for  she  was  in  such 
terror  at  such  a  catastrophe,  that  it  required  some  cross- 
questioning  for  me  to  find  out  what  had  happened,  or  was 
likely  to. 


IN   AMERICA.  63 

"  In  fact,  it  is  rather  bad  for  her.  Her  husband  is  away, 
and  her  household  is  sick.  She  evidently  thinks  Margaret 
Percival  a  blue ;  I  am  sadly  afraid,  my  dear,  that  that  is 
the  reason  she  turned  her  over  to  you  so  readily.  And  the 
thought  of  having  a  wild  English  woman,  in  search  of  a 
mission,  turned  in  upon  her  pretty,  fashionable,  down-stairs 
establishment,  or  upon  poor,  sick  Isabel's  quiet,  hospital- 
esque,  up-stairs  establishment,  had  naturally  enough  dis 
composed  her. 

"  I  asked  how  all  this  happened  in  England.  I  wanted  to 
know  just  how  Miss  Percival  got  on,  after  her  brother's 
ordination.  Well,  —  it  seems  that  Mrs.  Percival  is  dead; 
George  is  a  curate,  somewhere,  on  a  very  small  stipend; 
Craven  is  stationed  at  Hyderabad,  and  this  grand  break-up 
is  occasioned  by  Dr.  Sutherland,  (he  is  Dr.  now,)  having 
received  some  good  appointment  in  the  Church,  in  New 
Zealand.  Mrs.  Newton  thought  bishop,  but  I  guess  not; 
it  is  no  matter.  He  behaved  very  kindly  to  Margaret,  as 
such  a  man  would;  but  still  they  thought  she  had  better  not 
go  with  him.  She  staid  at  home  with  the  younger  children ; 
tried  to  keep  up  an  establishment  near  George's ;  but  has 
been  disappointed  in  fifty  ways,  poor  girl !  —  you  can  easily 
see  how;  —  and,  at  the  last  disappointment,  has  started  for 
America,  believing  that  there  may  be  room  for  a  well- 
educated  woman  here,  even  if  there  is  not  in  England. 

"  All  this  developed  itself  in  an  hour's  talk.  I  told  Mrs. 
Newton  that  I  thought  Miss  Percival  was  right.  That  I 
had  often  wondered  (as  you  have  heard  me  say  fifty  times) 
why  high-spirited  English  women,  left  to  their  own  exer 
tions,  did  not  do  this,  instead  of  leading  that  sadly  depend 
ent  and  abused  life  which  the  English  novels  profess  they 
do  lead  at  home.  I  was  rather  amused  at  her  answer  to 
me.  She  took  me  up,  at  once ;  <  It  might  be  very  easy  for 


64  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

such  persons  to  fare  well  in  the  interior  ;  certainly,  not  in 
the  cities.  Surely,  she  did  not  know  what  Miss  Percival 
could  do  in  New  York.  Perhaps,  if  1  was  so  confident  of 
her  success,  I  might  suggest  some  feasible  opening  for  her 
talents,  somewhere  in  Massachusetts.'  To  which,  very 
simply,  I  replied,  that  I  thought  it  very  probable  ;  —  as  I  had 
been  a  teacher  myself,  I  often  had  applications  from  those 
who  wanted  such  ;  —  I  would  certainly  be  glad  to  assist 
Miss  Percival,  in  whom  I  was  greatly  interested  :  and  so  we 
parted. 

"  Was  n't  it  queer,  after  all  I  wrote  you  yesterday,  that 
this  should  have  turned  up  to-day  ? 

"If  you  please,  you  may  write  to  Chichester,  to  ask 
young  Newstead  if  there  is  any  chance  for  Miss  Percival  in 
the  High  School,  where  he  is.  And  you  may  write  to 
Northampton,  to  the  X's,  too.  The  Curran  has  been  out 
thirty-one  days  already. 


"  I  hope  to  be  back  on  Tuesday." 

Saturday  morning,  a  few  days  after  he  had  despatched 
this  last  letter,  Mr.  Wilkie  received,  as  he  was  breakfasting, 
a  hurried  note  from  Mrs.  Newton,  to  tell  him  that  she  had 
word  from  "  down  town,"  that  the  Curran  was  below,  and 
that  she  expected  Miss  Percival  and  friend  at  her  house  by 
noon.  The  good  woman  had  not  failed  in  the  duties  of 
hospitality,  and  her  heart,  always  in  the  right  place,  was 
prompting  her  to  do  everything  to  give  the  unfortunate 
English  stranger  a  ready  welcome.  But,  just  at  this  junc 
ture,  as  at  some  other  junctures,  she  felt  terribly  the  want  of 
a  skilful  head,  to  carry  out  the  promptings  which  so  gener 
ously  suggested  themselves  ;  and,  in  her  husband's  absence, 


IN   AMERICA.  65 

she  was  glad  enough  to  beg  Mr.  "Wilkie,  as  he  had  seemed 
interested,  to  be  present  at  the  very  introduction  scene,  if  he 
could;  and  if  not,  to  help  her  through  the  day,  with  her  new 
guest,  as  well  as  he  could.  This  he  gladly  promised  to' do. 
He  found,  on  inquiry,  that  Mrs.  Newton  had  attended  to  all 
the  externals  with  due  care.  Her  carriage,  with  a  young 
friend,  was  waiting  at  the  pier  to  which  the  steamboat 
brought  up  the  passengers;  and,  at  one  o'clock,  with  their 
hand-baggage  with  them,  Miss  Percival,  and  the  companion 
of  her  voyage,  Mrs.  Winterton,  received  Mrs.  Newton's 
cordial  welcome  at  her  home. 

It  was  naturally  a  moment  which  both  parties  had  looked 
forward  to  with  some  dread ;  but  that  dread  gave  way,  on 
the  very  moment  itself.  Mrs.  Winterton  was  a  lady ;  she 
understood  herself,  and  her  position.  Mrs.  Newton,  like  a 
thousand  other  women,  who  show  some  weakness  in  conver 
sation,  or  in  using  the  pen,  was  at  home  in  kindness,  and 
whatever  kindness  dictates.  Of  her  own  home  she  was 
queen;  and  more  successful  was  she  than  she  knew,  in 
making  others  at  ease  in  it.  Just  at  this  instant,  too,  an 
amazing  weight  passed  from  her,  as  she  looked  at  Margaret 
Percival.  As  Mr.  Wilkie  had  seen,  she  had  formed  a  ter 
rible  idea  of  Miss  Percival,  as  being  shockingly  literary,  —  a 
real  ultra-marine  blue.  The  relief,  therefore,  as  she  looked 
on  the  very  pleasing,  timid,  but  somewhat  confiding  wo 
manly  face  of  the  young  English  girl,  was  very  great.  She 
breathed  free.  She  became  at  ease,  at  once. 

And  Margaret  ?  She  felt  at  a  crisis  in  her  life.  Here 
was  a  moment  she  had  been  looking  forward  to  so  long ; 
here  was  the  turning-point  in  a  scheme  which  so  many  of 
her  friends  had  thought  mad.  This  was  the  time  when 
she  ought  to  feel  excited,  exalted,  highly  strung;  and,  in 
stead  of  that,  she  felt  in  a  very  common-place  mood,  as  if 
6* 


66  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

she  were  in  very  every-day  like  circumstances.  Perhaps 
she  was  disappointed.  But  still  she  was  at  ease.  She  did 
not  feel  as  if  she  was  on  the  rack ;  she  did  not  feel  as  if  she 
ought  to  make  a  speech.  In  a  pretty  parlor,  she  was  receiv 
ing  the  welcome  of  a  well-bred  woman  whom  she  had  never 
seen  before.  Such  things  had  happened  fifty  times  in  Eng 
land.  It  was  a  disappointment,  perhaps,  that  nothing 
seemed  more  romantic.  But  it  was  a  disappointment  which 
is  very  apt  to  happen.  The  feeling  of  change  to  a  traveller 
does  not  so  often  come  with  the  first  moment  as  afterwards. 
And  so  it  was  that  Margaret  noticed  that  the  landscape 
which  hung  opposite  to  her  must  be  from  the  pencil  of  an 
English  artist  whom  she  knew;  noticed  that  the  instruction- 
book,  on  the  piano,  was  open  at  the  very  tune  which  she 
had  made  Harriet  drum  through  so  often.  So  was  it,  in  a 
word,  that  Margaret  was  at  her  ease. 

And  now  came,  sooner  than  any  one  would  have  wished, 
but  no  sooner  than  seemed  necessary,  plans  and  explana 
tions.  Mrs.  Winterton  had  come  out  to  join  a  brother, 
whose  address  she  had  with  her,  who  was  living  in  Georgia. 
She  expected  to  find,  in  New  York,  letters  from  him ;  and 
it  had  only  been  at  Mr.  Wallace's  urgency  that  she  had 
come  up  with  Margaret  to  Mrs.  Newton's  house,  as  she 
professed  that  she  had  no  claim  on  Mrs.  Newton's  hospi 
tality.  Mr.  Wallace  had  sent  a  servant  for  these  letters  to 
the  post-office,  while  the  party  came  up  to  Mrs.  Newton's  ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  letters  followed  them.  It  seemed, 
on  reading  them,  that  her  brother  was  ill,  and  she  was 
begged  to  lose  no  time  in  New  York,  but  to  join  the  family 
in  Georgia  as  soon  as  possible.  To  her  anxious  inquiries 
how  this  must  best  be,  the  gentlemen  were  obliged  to 
answer  that  she  would  gain  at  least  two  days  by  taking  the 
Southerner  steam-ship  for  Charleston  that  very  afternoon. 


IN    AMERICA.  67 

As  soon  as  this  appeared  to  be  really  the  most  feasible  plan 
for  her,  nothing  was  to  be  done  but  to  carry  it  through 
assiduously,  and  speed  the  parting,  who  had  but  just  been 
the  coming,  guest.  The  gentlemen  at  once  found  her  New 
York  friends;  her  arrangements  were  hurried  through  at 
the  custom-house,  and  after  two  or  three  hours  only  of 
hurly-burly,  Margaret  bade  her  good-by,  as  she  took  the 
southern  steamer ;  and  now,  indeed,  after  this  unexpected 
addition  to  the  excitement  of  the  morning,  found  herself 
alone,  in  a  strange  land. 

Mrs.  Newton  had  the  thoughtfulness,  however,  to  leave 
her  alone.  She  needed  rest,  and  in  the  pretty  room 
arranged  for  her  she  found  rest,  and  that  communion 
with  the  Father  in  which  no  loneliness  can  live.  A  few 
words  written  to  her  brother  George  seemed  a  fit  close  for 
this  hour  of  thought  and  prayer;  and  when  the  family 
gathered  in  the  evening,  Margaret  found  herself  ready  to 
appear  among  them,  not  wholly  dispirited,  and  by  no  means 
alone.  She  had  learned  already  to  trust  in  Mrs.  Newton's 
kindness  of  intention,  and  had  been  so  much  pleased  with 
Mr.  Wilkie's  blunt  frankness  of  manner,  as  to  be  glad  that 
she  had  heard  him  say  that  he  should  look  in  late  in  the 
evening.  He  seemed  to  her  more  un-English,  —  more 
American,  she  supposed  it  was, —  than  anything  or  any 
body  she  had  yet  seen. 

So,  when  the  bell  rang  for  tea,  she  went  down  stairs  in 
good  heart.  And  there  were  the  children,  ready,  with  a 
little  helping,  to  help  her  through  this  first  evening ;  — 
thorough  cosmopolitans  as,  in  their  way,  children  are,  — 
annihilators  of  time  and  space  and  all,  up  to  the  half  young 
lady  Isabel,  who  was  quite  proper  and  very  much  frightened. 
The  children  were  willing  to  ask  and  be  told  about  Harriet, 
and  Grace,  and  Philip,  and  their  school,  and  Harriet's  les- 


68  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

sons,  and  Philip's  pony ;  and  eventually  were  quite  ready 
to  communicate,  for  her  correspondence  home,  similar  items 
of  intelligence  in  their  own  affairs. 

Before  it  was  fairly  time  for  the  children  to  go  to  bed, 
Mr.  Wilkie  appeared.  Perhaps  Margaret  was  a  little  sur 
prised  at  the  extreme  familiarity  with  which  he  greeted  her. 
Yet  she  certainly  was  not  sorry  for  it;  and  she  had  a 
feeling,  herself,  towards  him,  as  one  of  the  first  persons 
whom  she  had  met  here,  which  answered  to  his  cordiality 
very  unaffectedly.  He  felt,  himself,  that  he  was  more  at 
home  with  her  than  he  should  have  been  with  almost  any 
one  else  so  situated,  and  very  simply  told  her  that  it  was 
only  two  days  before  that  he  had  read  the  published  part  of 
her  biography,  —  that  that  had  excited  a  wide  interest  in 
America,  among  persons  of  her  own  sex  and  age,  and  he 
showed  her,  laughing,  the  entry  which  he  had  made  in  his 
tablets  of  an  intention  to  call  at  the  booksellers'  to  find  her 
address  in  England. 

This  matter  of  the  publication  of  the  leading  facts  in  an 
important  part  of  her  life  had  never  been  particularly  agree 
able  to  Margaret.  She  had  riot  meant  to  live  before  folks. 
She  had  no  love  for  a  glass-house  exhibition  of  private  emo 
tion,  repentance,  prayer,  and  suffering.  It  had  been  through 
no  movement  of  hers  that  the  manuscript  memoir  had  been 
printed.  But  she  had  long  since  schooled  herself  to  think, 
that  the  unfortunate  publicity  which  it  had  brought  upon 
her,  was  part  of  the  Providential  discipline  which  was  to 
train  her  life,  and  she  had  submitted  her  own  feeling  about 
it  sweetly  and  kindly.  Although,  therefore,  she  winced  a 
little  at  first,  at  finding  that  in  the  new  home  she  had  sought 
she  was  as  much  before  the  public  as  in  the  old,  she  recon 
ciled  herself  at  once  to  any  measure  of  disappointment 
springing  from  that  discovery,  when  she  found  that  the 


IN   AMERICA.  69 

biography  had  gained  for  her  in  America  at  least  one 
friend. 

Their  conversation  became  intimate  at  once,  although,  of 
course,  in  no  sense  confidential,  and  not  often  serious,  or 
especially  thoughtful.  Before  the  short  evening  had  passed, 
Mr.  Wilkie  had  told  her  of  his  own  Massachusetts  home,  of 
his  wife,  and  daughter  Anna,  of  the  village  and  factories,  of 
Gertrude,  of  their  daily  occupations,  of  their  amusements 
summer  and  winter,  —  a  narrative  of  a  mode  of  life  quite 
new  to  her  English  experience.  She,  on  her  part,  had  been 
led  on  to  tell  him  of  the  various  sudden  Providences  which 
had  broken  in  on  that  quiet,  useful,  English  home,  where, 
on  the  day  of  George's  ordination,  she  had  ventured  to  say, 
"  Happiness  for  to-day."  She  had  told  him  of  her  disap 
pointments  for  years  afterwards ;  she  had  been  delighted  to 
find  that  he  did  not  regard  her  American  emigration  as  at 
all  Quixotic,  and  had  already  almost  accepted  his  invitation 
to  come  and  visit  his  wife  before  she  made  any  definite 
plans  for  the  future. 

"  Surely,  if  this  is  half  a  day,"  she  said,  as  she  went  up 
stairs  to  bed,  "  I  shall  not  fail  for  friends  in  my  new  home." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

SUNDAY  afternoon,  an  hour  before  sunset,  Mr.  Wilkie 
called  to  see  Margaret  Percival.  She  was  glad  to  see  his 
friendly  face,  and  glad,  too,  when  he  proposed  that  they 
should  walk  together.  After  the  confinement  of  shipboard, 
her  eagerness  to  try  the  stability  of  the  earth  was  really  an 
intense  longing.  And  she  had  not  yet  lost  an  English 
woman's  absolute  need  of  God's  air  and  light  every  day  of 


70  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

life,  Sunday  included.  They  were  very  near  St.  Matthew's 
Church,  so  that  her  walks  to  and  from  service  had  been  only 
a  taste  to  her  of  the  beauty  and  exhilaration  of  an  October 
day. 

Margaret  was  the  more  glad  that  Mr.  Wilkie  proposed 
this  walk,  because  she  felt  —  as  who  does  not  ?  —  that  you 
"get  on"  a  great  deal  faster  with  a  new  acquaintance  in  a 
long,  pleasant  walk,  than  in  a  much  longer  sitting-still  visit. 
Every  step  you  take  seems  to  crack  the  ice :  there  are  no 
walls  near  by  to  listen  to  what  you  say ;  —  there  are  better 
suggesters  of  conversation  than  are  the  books  on  the  table  or 
the  figures  on  the  carpet.  In  short,  there  are  fifty  reasons 
why  dear  friends  often  date  back  to  a  long  wralk  together,  as 
the  very  first  moment  when  their  respective  mercury-drops 
melted  into  one,  —  when  they  two  really  sympathized  with 
each  other. 

Mr.  Wilkie  led  her  quite  up  town.  She  was  strong,  and 
walked  fast,  so  that  they  came  into  the  less  thickly  built 
parts  of  the  ever  advancing  frontier  of  the  city. 

"  I  had  half  a  mind  to  call  for  you  an  hour  ago,"  he  said. 
"  I  was  going  down  to  see  a  poor  countrywoman  of  yours, 
from  Leeds,  who  is  making  up  her  mind  to  trust  me  with 
one  of  her  boys,  when  I  go  home.  She  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  seen  an  English  woman." 

"Why  did  not  you  come?"  answered  Margaret,  in  real 
regret. 

"I  knew  you  would  like  to  go;  but  I  knew,  too,  thai 
the  excitement  of  yesterday,  and  the  different  excitement- of 
to-day,  would  have  tired  you.  And  so  I  did  by  you  as  1 
would  have  wished  any  one  to  have  done  by  Anna.  I  did 
not  offer  you  the  temptation  to  fatigue,  where  you  might 
have  thought  it  a  duty  to  go.  I  did  not  want  to  lead  you 


IN   AMERICA.  71 

beyond  your  strength.  And  I  thought  you  would  not 
choose  to  refuse." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Margaret;  "for  I  know  you  do  not 
mean  to  flatter  me.  —  Now  I  am  sorry  I  said  that.  Why 
need  we  talk  of  flattery,  as  if  we  meant  to  be  on  formal 
terms  ?  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  come,  because,  as  I  told  you 
just  now,  the  walk  is  just  the  thing  for  me.  But  tell  me 
about  this  poor  Leeds  woman.  How  do  you  know  anything 
about  her  ?  Has  she  lived  at  Fairmeadow  ?  " 

"0,  no!  I  never  saw  her,  or  heard  of  her,  till  Friday. 
But,  of  course,  I  am  not  so  much  of  a  stranger  here  as  she 
is.  I  am  here  in  my  business  several  times  a  year;  — I 
have  friends,  and  correspondents,  and  all  that,  here ;  —  and 
she,  poor  soul,  arrived  from  England  only  six  weeks  ago ; 
her  husband  died  just  after,  and  she  has  her  three  or  four 
children  here.  They  are  staying  with  some  relative,  a  sort 
of  sister-in-law,  who  seems  good-natured  and  kind,  as  the 
poor  are  to  the  poor.  I  met  the  boy  in  the  street,  Friday, 
and  so  my  acquaintance  began." 

"Acquaintance?" 

"  Yes.  In  our  country  villages  we  have  no  poor,  to  speak 
of.  Our  duty  to  the  poor  takes,  therefore,  rather  a  dif 
ferent  form  from  yours,  in  large  towns,  in  England.  We 
have  very  little  suffering  at  home.  Here,  in  the  large  towns, 
there  is  a  great  deal.  Our  duty  is,  therefore,  to  absorb 
what  our  poor  little  ducts  can  of  what  we  find  here.  These 
sea-ports  receive  myriads  of  emigrants,  who  come,  they 
know  not  why,  to  do,  they  know  not  what.  They  arrive, 
and  wait  on  Providence,  in  the  miserable  hovels  of  a  town 
like  this.  What  should  be  done  for  them  is  to  lead  them 
off  into  the  country  towns.  A  long  preface,  this,  —  but  I 
make  it,  to  explain  to  you  why,  almost  always,  when  I 
come  to  New  York,  I  pick  up  an  English,  Irish,  or  German 


72  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

boy,  from  some  of  these  new-comer  families,  who  are  wait 
ing  here,  thus  :  —  I  see  his  father  or  mother,  if  he  has  either 
or  both,  and  persuade  them  to  let  me  find  him  a  home  with 
me,  or  some  of  my  neighbors,  in  the  country." 

"  Do  they  trust  you  ?     Do  they  assent  readily  ?" 

"  Very  often  they  do  not.  Very  often  there  is  no  one  but 
the  officers  of  the  Poor  establishment  to  consult.  There  are 
so  many  orphans  among  these  children,  that,  unless  I  have 
'  happened '  on  a  child,  —  unless  Providence  has  thrown 
one  in  my  way,  that  is,  —  it  needs  but  a  visit  to  the  proper 
Department  to  pick  one  out;  and,  as  I  am  known  there  now, 
they  are  ready  to  apprentice  such  a  boy  to  me,  or  to  any 
person  for  whom  I  will  vouch  that  he  will  take  faithful  care 
of  the  child.  Well,  these  boys  soon  become  accustomed  to 
our  ways.  I  think  sometimes,  too,  that  the  great  adventure 
of  a  voyage  in  early  life  starts  them  up,  gives  them  alacrity. 
At  all  events,  we  take  as  good  care  of  them  as  we  can,  and 
they  almost  all  turn  out  well." 

"'Turn  out'!  What  do  you  mean?  I  do  not  under 
stand.  You  mean  in  the  mills  ? " 

Mr.  Wilkie  laughed.  "No,  < turn  out  well '  is  Yankee 
for  '  succeed.'  In  the  two  or  three  instances  where  I  have 
taken  such  boys  home  to  my  own  farm,  or  my  neighbor's, 
or  to  my  factory,  from  families  here,  it  has  ended,  in  every 
case,  in  their  drawing  the  whole  of  the  family  up  to  Fair- 
meadow  after  them.  I  mean  in  those  instances  where  time 
enough  has  elapsed.  I  dare  say  it  will  be  so  now.  I  met 
this  boy  on  Friday,  crying  in  the  street.  He  is  a  fine-look 
ing  little  fellow,  some  ten  years  old.  He  had  lost  his  way. 
His  mother  had  had  the  good  sense  to  pin  into  his  pocket  a 
bit  of  paper  with  the  name  and  number  of  the  street  upon  it. 
This  I  found  out,  after  I  had  soothed  his  crying ;  it  was  not 
far  off,  and  I  went  home  with  him.  As  I  walked  on,  talk- 


IN   AMERICA.  73 

ing  with  him,  I  thought  I  would  just  ask  his  mother  what 
her  plans  were  for  him ;  for  he  told  me  his  father  was  dead, 
and  it  was  clear  enough  that  they  were  very  poor.  When 
I  came  to  see  how  sadly  off  they  were,  even  for  common 
comforts,  I  was  confirmed  in  this  resolution.  But  I  said 
nothing,  Friday,  nor  yesterday,  about  it.  I  did  not  want  to 
startle  them.  I  took  care  that  they  should  be  a  little  more 
comfortable ;  and  to-day  I  got  an  introduction  to  the  Union 
Society's  visitor  for  their  district,  who,  I  found,  knew  them. 
He  went  with  me,  to  encourage  them  to  consent  to  the 
separation,  and  we  have  just  now  broached  it  to  them.  I  do 
not  know  what  they  will  say.  I  did  not  press  for  an  answer. 
I  always  let  such  things  work." 

"  Shall  you  bring  him  up  as  a  servant  in  your  family?'*    ! 

"  Servant  ?  —  yes ;"  said  Mr.  Wilkie ;  and  he  laughed. 
"  That  is  so  English !  He  will  be  my  humble  servant, 
very  much  as  I  am  yours,  as  you  are  mine,  as  I  am  my 
wife's,  and  as  she,  for  a  year  or  two,  will  be  this  boy's,  till 
he  grows  old  enough  to  be  of  more  use  than  now.  You  will 
see,  when  you  come  up  on  your  visit.  He  will  do  what 
he  can  for  us ;  we  shall  be  bound  to  do  what  we  can  for 
him.  Just  now,  he  will  go  to  school,  he  will  go  to  pick 
wild  strawberries  for  my  wife,  he  will  ride  to  the  post- 
office  for  me,  he  will  ride  the  plough-horse  for  Uncle 
Andrew.  When  he  is  old  enough,  we  shall  see  what  to  do 
with  him.  If  he  is  handy,  he  will  go  into  the  factory.  If 
he  likes  the  farm,  we  shall  make  a  farmer  of  him.  If  he  is 
fond  of  figures,  he  will  grow  up  an  engineer.  If  he  should 
prove  signally  book-learned,  I  shall  send  him  to  college,  and 
he  will  pay  me  back  what  it  costs  before  he  is  of  age.  All 
depends  on  him.  Strictly  speaking,  he  will  be  bound  to  me 
as  an  apprentice  till  he  is  of  age." 

Margaret  was  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Wilkie's  matter-of-fact 
7 


74  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

way  in  going  to  work  in  such  matters.  She  was  pleased 
with  the  ease,  —  wholly  free  from  the  miserable  vanity  of 
mock  charity,  —  with  which  he  told  her  of  his  plans.  She 
saw,  too,  that  she  was  in  a  different  land  from  what  she 
had  left.  There  was,  at  the  same  time,  a  grateful  feeling, 
that  she  had  found,  so  soon,  the  Christian  spirit  working,  in 
the  forms  so  new  to  her,  of  so  new  a  world.  In  Mr.  Wil- 
kie's  way  here  was  the  same  generous  zeal,  acting,  not 
formally,  or  showily,  but  in  a  straight-forward,  systematic 
fashion,  which  had  shown  itself  at  home  in  her  Uncle 
Sutherland's  very  different  way, —  in  the  very  different  cir 
cumstances  of  his  cure.  They  walked  on,  without  speak 
ing,  till  Margaret  caught  herself  saying  aloud,  "  There  are 
diversities  of  administration,  but  the  same  Lord." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  read  your  thoughts,"  said  he.  "  You  are 
contrasting  this  prospect, — which  I  am  glad  you  were  able 
to  walk  out  to,  —  with  one  of  your  English  walks,  at  home." 

"I  might  have  been  doing  so,"  said  Margaret,  "and 
might  have  said  what  I  did  in  that  contrast.  Things  arc 
so  different!  Even  these  trees  that  shade  the  side-walk 
are  not  English." 

"  They  are  American  elms." 

"  And  the  curve  of  the  hills,  yonder,  is  strange.  The 
color  of  the  sky  is  strange.  The  very  dust  that  blows  up 
Defore  that  carriage  is  a  different  color  from  our  dust." 

"  And  so  the  sunset,  which  the  dust  will  help  to  make, 
will  be  different  from  your  sunset.  A  pleasant,  true-hearted 
friend  of  mine,  in  Boston,  used  to  say,  —  it  was  years  ago, 
too,  —  that  if  we  had  no  dust  in  our  evening  walk,  there 
would  be  none  in  the  horizon,  and  that  we  should  lose  half 
the  glory  of  the  sunset." 

"  That  was  a  pleasant  notion.     But,  to  go  back  to  what 


IN   AMERICA.  75 

we  spoke  of.  I  spoke  of  diversities  of  operations,  because 
I  was  comparing  you  with  Uncle  Sutherland." 

"  O !  He  will  see  diversities  of  operations  enough,  when 
he  comes  into  his  missionary  life." 

"  So  he  used  to  say.  And  yet  he  had  no  fears  of  start 
ing  upon  it.  The  whole  sermon,  this  afternoon,  set  me  to 
thinking  of  him.  It  was  an  appeal  for  the  Church  missions. 
But  I  need  not  tell  you  that.  Were  you  there  ?  " 

Mr.  Wilkie  started,  a  little  surprised.  "At  St.  Mat 
thew's  ?  "  said  he.  "  No ;  I  heard  Mr.  Osgood  preach." 

Margaret  went  on,  —  scarcely  regarding  his  answer,  —  to 
speak  of  the  sermon,  which  had  been  preached  by  a  gentle 
man  engaged  in  the  Episcopal  mission  to  Liberia.  She 
had  not  known  much  of  the  Liberian  colony  before,  and 
had  been  interested  in  the  account  he  gave  of  that ;  still 
more  so,  that,  in  all  his  accounts  of  missionary  privation, 
she  was  imagining  her  uncle's  position  in  his  new  home, 
and  wondering  how  far  his  condition  was  the  same. 

"  My  uncle  once  said  to  me,"  she  .said,  "  that  the  Ameri 
can  Church  had  shown  more  zeal  in  its  mission  arrange 
ments  than  it  had  ever  done  in  England,  where  so  much 
has  been  left  to  Dissenters,  —  as  if  we  had  no  duty  to  per 
form  but  to  ourselves.  I  remembered  that  remark  of  his, 
when  it  happened,  that,  on  the  first  day  that  I  was  in  an 
American  Church,  I  heard  such  a  mission  appeal  as  I  heard 
to-day.  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  study  out  what  you  have 
been  doing  here." 

Mr.  Wilkie  made  some  answer,  —  Margaret  scarcely 
heeded  what,  She  was  warmed  by  the  feeling,  which  his 
zeal  for  the  emigrant  boy  and  this  Liberian  sermon  had 
aroused,  that  at  last  she  had  found  the  Church,  —  her  own 
dear  Church,  —  Uncle  Sutherland's  Church  —  as  hearty  in  its 
missions,  at  home  and  abroad,  as  even  the  Catholic  church, 


76  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

whose  alacrity  had  so  seduced  her  in  those  old  days  of 
danger.     She  went  on  to  say, 

"I  so  enjoyed  every  word  of  the  service  to-day!  On 
ship-board  it  was  not  read.  I  had  not  heard  it  since  we 
left  Liverpool.  And  now,  to  think  of  it,  going  round  the 
world,  in  one  language  and  another!  —  the  same  prayer, 
and  the  same  spirit  of  prayer,  in  one  language  and  another. 
'  There  is  no  speech  nor  language  where  their  voice  is  not 
heard.' " 

Mr.  Wilkie  sympathized  with  the  enthusiastic  girl.  "  I 
have  a  copy  of  the  Liturgy,"  he  said,  "  in  Hebrew,  as  your 
Bishop  Alexander  has  arranged  it  for  the  new  church  at 
Jerusalem." 

"  Have  you  ? "  cried  she  ;  "  that  is  so  pleasant !  Those 
prayers,  that  we  have  so  really  ly  heart,  uttered  in  those 
places,  of  all  in  the  world,  —  Gethsemane,  Zion  itself,  Beth 
lehem,  where  — "  she  stopped.  She  had  been  going  to  say 
"  where  they  were  first  uttered."  But  she  knew  her  zeal 
was  going  a  little  too  far.  She  went  back,  therefore,  to 
speak  of  Heber  reading  those  prayers  in  India,  her  uncle  in 
New  Zealand,  these  zealous  men,  of  whom  she  had  heard, 
in  Africa ;  and  "  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "  your  emigrants 
in  California,  by  this  time." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  Margaret,  quite  rapt  in  her 
theme, —  "  surely  that  service  must  satisfy  any  heart,  —  so 
simple,  so  faithful,  so  true,  so  venerable !  " 

"  I  suppose  it  satisfies  almost  any  one  who  is  satisfied 
with  any  form  of  worship,"  said  her  companion. 

But  Margaret  did  not  observe  the  condition  he  added  to 
his  assent.  Through  the  whole  conversation,  she  was 
carrying  along  the  impression,  that,  like  herself,  he  was  of 
the  "Church  of  England." 


IN    AMERICA.  77 

After  a  pause,  she  added,  "  They  did  not  read  prayers 
at  Mrs.  Newton's,  this  morning." 

"  I  am  surprised  at  that.  Something  especial  prevented 
it,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  afraid,  —  I  supposed,  —  in  short,  you  know,  cus 
toms  vary;  and  I  enjoy  that  calling  together  of  the  family 
to  worship,  in  the  morning,  in  a  way  which  nothing  would 
compensate  me  for." 

"  You  may  well  say  that,"  said  he.  "  And  that  is  my 
tenderest  association  with  the  Liturgy,"  he  added.  "  We 
often  use  appropriate  parts  of  it  in  our  family  worship  at 
home." 

"  Often!  "  thought  Margaret.  She  was  a  little  surprised, 
but  supposed  she  did  not  understand.  As  they  wralked  on, 
she  asked  Mr.  Wilkie  who  was  the  clergyman  at  Fair- 
meadow.  ** 

"  Mr.  Kavanagh  ;  but  he  is  now  in  Europe,  and  will  not 
be  home  for  some  time.  He  will  interest  you.  He  was 
born  in  a  Catholic  family." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margaret,  and  again  she  was  encouraged 
to  remember  the  strength  of  this  American  branch  of  the 
church.  "  And  your  bishop  ? "  she  asked.  "  Are  you  of 
this  diocese  ? " 

At  once  the  whole  position  of  this  conversation  revealed 
itself  to  Mr.  Wilkie.  He  saw  that  they  had  been  playing 
at  cross-purposes  all  along,  and  that  Margaret  had  been 
expecting  the  enthusiasm  which  an  Episcopalian  would 
have  shown  about  the  English  Liturgy,  and  the  information 
which  an  Episcopalian  would  have  given  about  the  Epis 
copal  missions  abroad.  The  misunderstanding  amused  him 
a  little,  perhaps ;  but  he  hastened  to  bring  it  to  an  end.  To 
her  question  as  to  his  diocese  and  bishop,  therefore,  he 
answered,  "  Mr.  Kavanagh  is  our  bishop.'3 
7* 


78  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

"  What !  —  is  Fairmeadow  a  cathedral  town  ?  " 

"  Fairmeadow,  and  the  villages  round  it,  are  the  whole 
of  his  diocese." 

"  How,  —  I  don't  understand  you,  —  how  many  American 
bishops  are  there  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  believe  me,"  answered  he,  perfectly  seriously, 
"as  many  as  there  are  parishes.  I  see  that  you  do  not 
understand  me,  —  that  we  have  misunderstood  each  other 
all  along.  You  have  supposed  me,  without  my  knowing  it, 
to  be  a  member  of  the  Episcopal  Church, —  of  the  Church 
of  England,  as  you  would  call  it.  You  are  mistaken.  I 
am  a  member  of  the  Church  Universal,  —  of  the  general 
Church  of  Christ.  If  I  was  in  England,  you  would  call  me 
a  Dissenter.  We  do  not  use  that  word  here,  for  reasons 
you  will  understand  when  you  see  how  things  are  with  us. 
When  you  spoke  of  the  Liturgy  with  interest,  I  sympathized 
with  you  wholly.  But  we  do  not  use  it  in  Fairmeadow,  in 
our  church  services.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  you  sup 
posed  we  did. 

"  The  Episcopal  bishop  who  has  the  oversight,  under 
your  forms,  of  the  fifty  or  sixty  Episcopal  churches  in 
Massachusetts,  is  Bishop  Eastburn.  He  lives  in  Boston. 
The  Catholic  bishop,  in  whose  charge  are  the  Roman 
churches,  is  Bishop  Fitzpatrick.  The  Methodist  bishop, 
who  has  the  oversight  of  more  than  either,  is,  I  think, 
Bishop  Waugh.  All  the  other  churches,  some  four/fifths 
of  the  whole  number,  are  under  their  own  charge.  Each 
appoints  their  own  minister,  believing  that  he  is  the  only 
bishop  or  overseer  for  them ;  and  each  is  under  its  own 
supervision." 

"  Independents  ?"  asked  Margaret,  after  a  pause. 

"  That  is  as  good  a  name  as  any ;  your  Uncle  Suther 
land  would  probably  use  that  word." 


IN   AMERICA.  79 

This  explanation  troubled  Margaret.  After  her  sad 
enough  experience  with  the  Countess  Novera,  her  uncle 
had  shown  to  her,  and  she  had  seen,  that  the  true  way  for 
an  humble  member  of  the  Church  to  avoid  alienation  from 
it,  was  to  avoid  temptation.  She  had  renounced  her 
Catholic  books,  as  well  as  her  Catholic  friends.  Her  uncle 
had  advised  her,  and  she  had  found  rest  and  strength  in 
following  the  counsel.  She  had  meant  to  follow  it  in 
America.  She  was  a  Church-woman ;  she  had  no  wish  to 
leave  the  Church.  She  had  meant  to  avoid  temptation  to 
leave  it. 

And  now  she  found  herself  in  the  embarrassing  position, 
of  having  accepted,  and  accepted  heartily,  even  joyfully, 
the  kindness,  the  good  offices,  of  a  man  whose  Christianity 
had  been  hearty  enough  for  her  to  suppose  him  a  "  Church 
man."  He  had  proposed  to  her  a  visit  to  his  home ;  she 
had  made  no  objection  to  the  proposal ;  and  it  appeared  that 
that  home  was  to  be  the  home  of  a  Dissenter. 

She  had  enjoyed  the  idea  of  the  visit.  But  she  could 
not  but  remember  that  she  had  even  more  enjoyed  the  idea 
of  a  visit  to  Henningsly;  and  that  afterwards  she  had 
trained  herself  to  turn  away  in  her  walks  even,  if  the  tur 
rets  of  Henningsly  caught  her  eyes. 

Ought  not  that  be  a  warning  to  her  before  she  went  to 
Fairmeadow  ? 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SUNDAY,  at  the  Wilkies'  house,  was  a  day  always  calm 
and  peaceful.  One's  remembrance  of  the  day  there  was 
always  as  of  a  clear,  sunny  day.  There  are  some  places 
where  Sunday  always  wears  this  association.  One  forgets 


SO 


MARGARET    TERCIVAL 


that  the  weather  can  ever  be  unpleasant,  because  every 
thing  within  and  without  is  in  harmony  with  a  bright, 
clear  day  of  sunshine.  On  the  Sunday  passed  by  Mr.  Wil- 
kie  at  New  York,  as  just  described,  Mr.  Newstead  took  his 
book  into  the  woods  for  the  day,  and  Nature  did  seem  to 
invite  to  peace  and  quiet.  About  noon,  he  returned,  looking 
hot  and  sleepy;  and  he  dozed,  through  the  afternoon,  on  the 
porch. 

Anna  and  Gertrude  were  to  go  early  to  the  village. 
Everything  about  the  farm  wore  a  Sunday  air.  Even  the 
busy,  clattering  fowls  had  put  on  a  decent  sort  of  demeanor, 
and  moved  majestically  about.  It  was  a  warm  autumn 
morning,  and  the  door  stood  open  from  the  porch,  and  the 
sun  shone  broadly  in.  Anna  wished  to  be  early  at  church, 
on  account  of  the  Sunday-school,  and  Gertrude  accompanied 
her.  The  short  ride  there  was  most  quiet  and  pleasant. 
The  village  street  was  quite  untenanted.  On  the  way, 
Anna  spoke  of  the  Sunday-school. 

"  I  have  had  a  class  there,  a  long  time ;  but  it  has  been 
with  fear  and  trembling.  A  teacher  may  sometimes  do  as 
much  for  ill  as  good;  and  I  have  felt  as  if  my  powers 
might  be  very  weak.  But  yet,  I  wish  so  much  to  do  some 
thing  for  children,  to  make  the  day  different  to  them  from 
other  days  !  I  feel  so  thankful  for  my  associations  with 
Sunday  !  They  have  never  been  of  a  sad  or  gloomy  nature. 
It  has  always  been  a  pleasure  to  me  to  read  books  of  a  dif 
ferent  class  from  what  I  would  read  other  days.  The  cir 
cumstances  of  the  day  are  so  much  more  quiet  than  those 
of  other  days,  that  I  can  read  a  sort  of  book  that  requires 
more  thought,  —  something  that,  in  the  whirl  of  other  days, 
one  does  not  get  time  for,  or  find  the  place  for." 

There  was  a  grave-yard  around  the  church.     It  was  still 
early,  and  Anna  and  Gertrude  lingered  a  while  there,  before 


IN   AMERICA.  81 

going  into  the  church.  It  was  a  beautiful  spot.  Some 
drooping  willows  hung  over  the  grassy  bank.  They  walked 
there,  without  speaking.  Gertrude  knew  what  associations 
Anna  had  with  this  place,  and  it  carried  her  back  to  the 
thought  of  the  most  bitterly  sad  moments  of  her  own  life. 

Some  of  the  children  were  beginning  to  assemble,  and 
they  turned  to  go  into  the  church.  Anna  said, 

"  '  The  dead  in  Christ,  —  they  rest  in  hope, 

And  o'er  their  sleep  sublime 
The  shadow  of  the  steeple  moves 

From  morn  till  vesper  chime.' 

I  love  those  lines  very  much.  I  can  scarcely  tell  why  I  like 
them  so  well ;  for,  indeed,  I  do  not  believe  that  our  loved 
ones  sleep  here.  Still,  it  is  a  pleasant  thought,  to  feel  that 
over  the  forms  we  have  loved  so  well  there  is  spreading  so 
blessed  an  influence." 

Anna  went  to  her  class  of  little  girls,  and  Gertrude  joined 
the  young  people  who  formed  Mr.  Harrod's  Bible  class. 

They  were  reading  from  the  chapter  in  which  were  these 
words  :  "  This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise." 
Mr.  Harrod  said  these  words  had  been  quoted,  to  show  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  death-bed  repentance.  Some 
one  asked,  if  it  could  not  also  prove  that  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  a  sudden  change  of  heart;  and  spoke  of  certain 
instances,  where  some  great  startling  event  had  so  worked 
upon  the  heart  of  one  who  had  never  been  religiously 
inclined  before,  as  to  give  an  utterly  new  impulse,  and  cre 
ate  what  might  be  called  a  change  of  heart. 

Mr.  Harrod  said  that  he  believed  that  there  might  be  such 
an  awakening  of  the  heart.  But,  he  continued,  —  "  In  the 
length  of  our  lives,  we  need  many  such  awakenings.  We 
but  pass  out  from  one  series  of  temptations,  to  enter  into 


82  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

another,  perhaps  of  a  higher  grade.  There  is  danger  of  our 
again  falling  asleep,  and  we  need  to  be  roused  anew.  A 
young  person  enters  life  with  a  proud  feeling  of  independ 
ence,  as  if  he  stood  strong  enough  in  his  own  strength. 
Something  comes  to  him  suddenly,  to  teach  him  his  depend 
ence  upon  a  higher  power;  and  he  learns  a  new  lesson, 
that  teaches  him  to  cry,  '  Lead  Thou  me  on ; '  he  hears  a 
voice  crying  to  him,  at  home,  in  the  wilderness,  '  Repent 
ye,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.'  But,  as  I  said 
before,  these  words  must  lead  him  not  merely  to  lay  aside 
his  old  sins,  but  give  him  strength  to  meet  his  new  tempta 
tions.  Therefore,  we  can  scarcely  say,  with  joy,  of  any  time 
or  hour,  we  have  experienced  a  change  of  heart,  unless  we 
feel  sure  that  it  is  to  lead  to  a  growth  in  religious  power. 
We  know  not  how  strong,  or  how  firm,  are  the  resolutions 
that  this  hour  of  promise  forms.  If,  then,  it  is  delayed  till 
the  hour  of  death,  there  is  only  one  Power  that  can  say 
whether  it  is  the  true  repentance  of  the  heart.  We  cannot 
ourselves  know  it ;  we  shall  see  standing  by  our  bedside  no 
living  Christ,  to  say,  *  This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in 
Paradise.' 

"  It  was  one  of  the  gifts  of  the  purity  of  Christ's  character, 
that  he  could  see  deeply  into  the  hearts  of  others.  We  are 
told,  '  that  he  knew  what  was  in  man.'  Of  the  lives  of 
those  who  suffered  with  Jesus,  we  know  nothing ;  nor  how 
deep  was  the  crime  for  which  they  were  paying  a  penalty. 
We  only  know,  that,  to  add  to  the  bitterness  of  the  insults 
heaped  upon  Jesus,  he  was  placed  between  them,  and  that 
he  might  *  make  his  grave  with  the  wicked,  and  with  the 
rich  in  his  death.' 

"  But,  we  may  believe  that  Jesus,  the  clearness  of  whose 
mental  vision  was  blinded  by  no  low  prejudice,  no  veil  of 
selfish  passion,  could  read  how  guilty  were  the  motives  that 


IN   AMERICA.  83 

led  to  the  crime  that  brought  his  fellow-sufferer  by  his  side, 
and  how  earnest  was  his  repentance,  and  how  true  was  his 
faith.  For  us,  we  can  have  no  such  excuse  as  this  male 
factor.  All  our  lives  have  been  sounding  in  our  ears,  and 
calling  to  our  hearts,  the  words  of  the  forerunner  of  Jesus, 
'  Repent  ye,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.'  We 
have  heard,  besides,  the  pleading  voice  of  Jesus,  himself,  — 
*  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden ;'  and 
then  he  adds,  '  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  Perhaps  the  true 
meaning  of  that  word  rest  may  never  come  to  us,  till  we 
hear  with  it,  from  above,  the  words,  '  To-day  sbalt  thou  be 
with  me  in  Paradise.'  " 

As  Anna  and  Gertrude  left  the  church,  after  the  services, 
they  met  Miss  Nelly  Stevens.  She  was  with  her  sister 
Prudence,  and  was  anxious  they  should  pass  the  hours 
between  the  morning  and  afternoon  services  at  her  house. 
But  Anna  had  promised  to  go  to  Mrs.  Harrod's.  She  left 
Gertrude  there,  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  the  first  Sunday 
Gertrude  had  been  to  church  since  her  illness,  and  in  the 
quiet  of  Mrs.  Harrod's  white-curtained  chamber,  she  thought 
over  the  sermon  she  had  heard  from  Mr.  Harrod  in  the 
morning. 

As  Mrs.  Wilkie,  with  Anna  and  Gertrude,  drove  home  in 
the  afternoon,  Gertrude  spoke  of  the  morning's  Sunday- 
school  lesson. 

"  As  Mr.  Harrod  spoke  these  words,  '  This  day  shalt  thou 
be  with  me  in  Paradise,'  I  could  not  help  recalling  those 
other  words,  in  the  parable  of  the  rich  man,  that  were  said 
to  him,  after  he  had  laid  up  much  goods,  —  'This  night 
shalt  thy  soul  be  required  of  thee  ! '  How  terrible  do  these 
last  words  seem !  As  if  they  ought  to  haunt  us  more,  and 
ought,  indeed,  to  waken  us  out  from  our  worldly  visions, 
and  dreams  of  earthly  happiness." 


84  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

« 

"  They  do,  indeed,  come  to  us,  sometimes,  with  a  sound 
of  terror,  and  we  wonder  that  we  do  not  listen  to  them 
oftener." 

"  It  may  be  right,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie,  "  to  recall  them 
often ;  to  bring  often  before  our  minds  the  foolishness  of 
our  ways  in  this  life ;  but,  do  you  know,  my  dear  girls, 
the  older  I  grow,  the  more  I  dwell  upon  God's  mercy,  rather 
than  upon  any  fears  of  His  justice  ?  —  and,  at  last,  I  find  I 
cannot  easily  separate  His  mercy  from  His  justice.  When  I 
think  of  my  hardships,  I  am  filled  with  sadness  and  anxiety ; 
and  then  I  feel  that  it  is  only  God's  mercy  that  can  bring 
me  any  comfort,  when  that  time  shall  come  that  I  shall  look 
back  upon  the  deeds  I  have  done,  and  the  life  I  have  passed 
through.  As  we  see  now  how  nature  still  hangs  a  beauty 
and  a  glory  over  even  the  decay  of  these  dying  leaves,  so  I 
have  a  firm  faith,  that,  out  of  my  poor,  faltering  soul,  He 
will,  perhaps,  bring  forth  some  good.  And  I  feel  how  truly 
His  love  must  be  as  great  as  His  power,  and  how  He  must 
testify  His  power  only  in  acts  of  love." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

MARGARET  wbuld  have  hardly  been  so  much  troubled  at 
the  prospect  of  visiting  in  a  Dissenting  family,  but  for  one 
or  two  experiences  which  had  happened  to  her  on  the 
voyage. 

After  her  sea-sickness  had  passed,  and  she  and  her  friend 
had  been  able  to  enjoy  the  open  air  on  deck,  they  had 
become  acquainted,  in  that  charming  intimacy  of  sea-life, 
with  a  family  of  Friends,  or  Quakers,  returning  to  Pennsyl- 


IN   AMERICA. 


85 


vania,  after  a  journey  in  Europe.  The  extreme  intelligence 
and  quickness  of  Hester  and  Ruth  Withers,  —  the  bright, 
kindly  spirit  of  their  brother  George,  —  and  the  perfect,  the 
unfailing  self-control  of  their  father  and  mother,  and  of  Sis 
ter  Alice,  their  aunt,  —  first  attracted  Margaret's  attention ; 
and  afterwards,  as  they  extended  towards  the  two  lonely 
ladies  every  kindness  that  they  could  think  of,  and  she 
became  more  and  more  intimate  with  them,  these  qualities 
entirely  won  her  affection. 

Surely,  there  never  were  people  wrho  had  less  cant  in 
their  religion,  —  that  is  to  say,  in  their  lives,  —  than  have  the 
Withers  family.  And,  all  the  while,  when  you  are  with 
them,  you  feel  that  the  spirit  of  everything  said  or  done  is 
pure  as  purity ;  you  know,  all  the  while,  that  their  faith  is 
living  faith ;  you  see,  all  the  while,  that  presence  of  Jesus, 
of  which,  excepting  in  the  most  intimate  discourse,  they  say 
so  little. 

I  think  it  was  Mr.  Withers  with  whom  Margaret  first 
became  acquainted.  The  ladies  of  his  family  were  still 
imprisoned  in  their  state-rooms,  when  he,  one  day,  had  an 
opportunity  to  render  Margaret  some  little  service,  which 
led  them  on  to  a  long  two  hours  walk  together.  He  was  so 
kind,  so  friend-like,  at  once  so  fatherly  and  brotherly,  that 
Margaret  felt  at  once  that  she  should  need  no  other  personal 
protector  on  her  voyage.  It  was  her  first  acquaintance  with 
one  of  the  Society  of  Friends.  There  was  a  charm  to  her 
cordial  heart  in  the  ease  with  which  he  called  her  "  Marga 
ret,"  without  be-Missing  her,  or  be-Percivaling  her ;  and  so 
it  was,  that,  before  the  other  ladies  were  well  enough  to 
leave  their  rooms,  he  and  she  were  the  closest  of  friends. 

And  when  Hester  Withers  appeared,  a  little  weak  and 
pale  after  the  sickness  she  had  passed  through,  it  was  so 
easy  to  learn  to  love,  —  yes,  and  to  admire  her.  At  first,  she 
8 


86 


MARGARET   PERCIVAL 


enjoyed  leaning  on  Margaret's  stronger  arm,  to  receive  the 
support  of  her  better  trained  feet,  as  they  walked ;  then,  as 
she  herself  grew  strong,  Margaret  felt  the  influence  of  her 
thoroughly  conscientious,  godly  character ;  —  found  herself 
consulting  Hester  in  great  things  or  in  little ;  — and  so  they 
read  together,  sang  together,  —  for  the  young  Friends  will 
sing,  now-a-days,  —  worked  together;  yes,  lived  together. 
Hester  Withers  is  so  modest  a  person,  that  she  hardly  can  go 
into  a  circle  of  people,  however  dear  to  her,  without  a  deep 
blush ;  and  yet,  so  conscientious  is  she,  and  so  willing  to 
trust  her  conscience,  that  she  is  firm,  utterly  unwavering, 
where  it  leads  her ;  and,  for  all  the  blush,  there  is  no  hesi 
tation  when  she  says  what  she  thinks,  or  when  she  does 
what  she  feels  should  be  done.  So  she  becomes  quite  a 
queen,  in  her  way,  in  her  little  circle.  The  circle  knows  it, 
or  not,  as  may  happen.  Surely  no  one  would  regret  it ;  for 
Hester  is  so  kind-hearted,  and  so  unselfish,  that  this  influ 
ence,  based  simply  on  her  clearness  of  perception  and  truth 
of  character,  never  pained  any  one,  and  never  can. 

Hester  was,  perhaps,  the  first  friend  of  her  own  age  whom 
Margaret  had  ever  had,  with  whom  every  circumstance  so 
combined  that  they  had  no  hesitation,  no  uneasiness  at  all, 
in  cementing  their  intimacy,  from  its  very  first  breath,  by  dis 
tinctly  religious  ties  and  associations.  The  talks  which  Mar 
garet  had  had  with  Hester's  father  were  serious.  The  first 
time  Hester  came  on  deck,  and  joined  their  walk,  Margaret 
and  Mr.  Withers  vwere  talking  of  the  "  Remedies  against 
Impatience  "  in  the  "  Holy  Dying,"  —  a  hand-book  equally 
familiar  to  all  three  of  them.  And  again,  all  the  circum 
stances  of  passenger  life  helped  them  to  keep  on  that  per 
fectly  natural  footing,  where,  each  with  each,  two  earnest 
souls  do  not  fear  to  speak  with  each  other  of  that  which  is 
dearest  to  them  both. 


IN   AMERICA.  87 

Now,  although  with  her  uncle,  and  lately  with  her  younger 
sisters,  Margaret  had  known  constantly  the  pleasures  and 
the  worth  of  mutual  religious  support,  she  had  never, 
except  in  those  sad,  dangerous  days  with  the  Countess,  taken 
just  this  satisfaction,  from  the  very  beginning,  with  one  of 
her  own  age  and  sex. 

As  the  voyage  went  on,  the  two  girls  had  become  insepara 
ble.  Their  parting  was  a  sad  one,  but  a  hopeful  one ;  for  Mar 
garet  had  promised  to  visit  the  Witherses,  at  Germantown, 
and  to  write  them  at  once,  that  Hester  might  write  to  her. 

Margaret  had  enjoyed  this  blessed  friendship  almost  with 
out  a  drawback.  Yet,  there  were  times  when,  alone  in  her 
state-room,  she  wondered  to  think  how  little  she  had  known 
of  the  Society  of  Friends.  She  remembered,  in  her  journal, 
a  passage,  which  she  turned  back  to,  and  read,  more  amazed 
than  amused ;  though  there  was  a  vein  of  amusement,  as 
she  thought  of  the  flippancy  with  which  she  had  written, 
when  she  knew  so  little.  The  passage  was,  — 

"  I  am  a  Christian  ;  but  so  are  Independents,  Baptists, 
Quakers,  Primitive  Methodists,  Wesleyans,  Swedenbor- 
gians,  —  yet,  what  communion  can  there  be  between  me 
and  them  ? "  * 

She  took  her  pen,  and  wrote  in  the  margin,  —  "  Great 
God !  can  there  be  closer  communion  than  between  Hester 
and  me,  as  we  prayed  to-night  together?"  And  the  old 
entry  in  the  journal  would  scarcely  have  troubled  her,  — 
she  would  have  looked  on  it  only  as  a  girlish  silliness, 
such  as  journals  will  show, — but  that,  as  she  turned  over 
its  pages,  she  came  to  these  words  of  her  dear  uncle's  :  — 

Margaret  had  said  to  him  that  "  All  Christians  form  but 
one  body,  —  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  says  so." 

*  The  passage  is  copied  in  Margaret  Percival,  vol.  i.,  p.  113. 


88  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

He  had  replied,  —  "It  says  that  we  are  to  endeavor  to 
keep  *  the  unity  of  the  spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace ;  because 
there  is  one  body,  and  one  spirit,  and  one  hope  of  our  call 
ing  ;  one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism.'  Now,  look  at  Uni 
tarians,  denying  the  divinity  of  our  Lord,  and  calling  them 
selves  Christians  ;  look  at  Baptists,  enforcing  adult  baptism 
alone ;  look  at  Wesleyans,  and  Independents,  and  the 
countless  sects  of  the  present  day,  making  both  the  sacra 
ments  mere  signs ;  and  all  differing  from  each  other,  and 
from  the  Church,  in  their  form  of  government ;  —  where 
can  the  '  one  body '  be  found  among  them  ? "  # 

Margaret  remembered  this  troubled  conversation  too  well 
to  need  to  read  her  long  report  of  it.  She  remembered  that 
her  uncle  had  said,  —  "  God  forbid  that  I,  or  any  human 
being,  should  presume  to  confine  the  mercies  of  Christ 
within  the  strict  limits  of  the  visible  Church."  That  was 
so  kind  of  him,  —  so  like  him.  Still,  he  had  been  eager 
that  all  others  should  be  brought  within  "  the  English 
Church,"  because  it  had  certainty  on  its  side.  And  Marga 
ret  was  distinctly  conscious  that  Mr.  Withers  and  Hester, 
and  all  of  them,  felt  that  they  had  certainty  on  their  side, — 
what  was  worse  to  her,  she  did  not  wonder  that  they  felt  so, 
—  while  she  was  not  in  the  least  shaken  in  her  own  attach 
ment  to  her  own  Church.  Nay,  at  bottom,  as  she  proved 
her  heart  that  night,  she  felt  that  she  had  not  once  made  an 
effort,  nor  wanted  to  make  an  effort,  to  bring  Hester  within 
the  pale  of  "  the  Church  of  England."  It  had  not  occurred 
to  her  that  she  ought  to,  till  this  conversation  of  her  uncle's 
was  called  up  to  her.  Now,  whether  he  would  not  think 
she  ought?  What  would  he  have  done  ?  But  if  she  should, 
why  was  not  she  playing  the  Countess  Novera  over  again, 

*  Margaret  Percival,  i.,  122. 


IN    AMERICA.   .  89 

to  Hester's  Margaret  Percival  ?  Margaret  was  troubled,  that 
night ;  and  went  to  bed  to  dream  of  her  Uncle  Sutherland 
arguing  with  a  New  Zealand  chief,  who  turned  round  of  a 
sudden,  and  proved  to  be  Father  Andrea,  in  disguise  ;  and, 
indeed,  awoke  Margaret,  by  suddenly  changing  into  William 
Penn. 

The  bright  air  of  the  next  day,  and  Hester's  pleasant  face, 
pushed  away  the  whole  trouble  ;  and  Margaret  resolved  not 
to  think  of  it  again,  till  she  should  visit  Hester,  in  German- 
town.  Perhaps,  before  that  time,  she  could  consult  some 
clergyman  who  could  tell  her  her  duty. 

The  other  experience  of  the  voyage  which  had  given  Mar 
garet  occasion  for  troubled  thought,  as  to  duty,  tended,  as  it 
happened,  to  the  same  question.  One  disagreeable  after 
noon,  quite  a  party  of  the  passengers,  unable  to  be  on  deck, 
were  assembled,  talking  together,  at  one  end  of  the  ship's 
saloon.  With  Mr.  Withers's  family  were  Margaret  and  Mrs. 
Winterton,  and  one  or  two  others,  among  whom  was  a 
young  gentleman,  a  Moravian  preacher.  They  all  felt  an 
interest  in  him,  and,  indeed,  well  acquainted  with  him ;  for 
he  had,  every  Sunday,  performed  the  public  religious  ser 
vices  of  the  ship ;  and  there  was  a  simple  zeal  in  his  whole 
manner  which  had  won  upon  them  all.  This  afternoon,  he 
was  giving  them  some  account  of  the  beauties  of  Bethlehem, 
the  home  to  which  he  was  returning,  from  a  visit  to  some 
of  the  communities  of  the  Moravian  brethren  in  Germany. 
His  simple  account  of  the  simple  life  of  the  brethren  and 
sisters  in  Bethlehem  seemed  almost  like  a  page  from  an 
imagined  history  of  those  early  Christian  times  which  it 
is  so  natural  to  suppose  were  unbroken  peace  and  beauty; 
and  death  there,  in  the  midst  of  friends,  seemed  so  calm,  — 
as  he  described  the  parting  of  some  who  must  have  been 
very  dear  to  him,  —  and  that  funeral  music,  on  the  wings  of 
8* 


90  MAEGARET    PERCIVAL 

which  the  soul  might  be  wafted  to  heaven,  seemed  such  a 
relief  from  the  almost  affected  sadness  of  some  rituals,  that 
they  listened  to  him,  as  he  passed  into  a  longer  account  of 
the  Moravian  brotherhood  there,  without  interrupting  him 
for  an  instant.  Margaret's  imaginative  spirit  was  on  fire 
again ;  and  she  was  relieved  to  see,  that,  in  this  very  heart 
of  Protestantism,  there  could  be  rituals  so  touching  and  so 
real.  They  led  him  on,  from  point  to  point  of  his  life 
among  the  brethren ;  and  it  was  in  this  long  conversation, 
that  he  came  to  speak  of  his  last  voyage  to  America,  which 
had  been  three  years  before. 

He  had  been  to  London,  at  that  time,  it  seemed,  as  a 
member  of  a  noble  convention,  which  had  assembled  in  the 
hope  of  promoting  an  "  Evangelical  Alliance "  among 
Christians,  of  whatever  (Protestant)  sect.  He  did  not  say 
much  about  the  convention  itself.  Margaret  fancied  he 
was  not  wholly  pleased  with  some  of  its  arrangements,  or 
their  results.  But  of  his  voyage  home  he  gave  a  very 
touching  account.  There  were  on  board  a  large  number  of 
the  delegates,  he  said,  together  with  a  great  many  persons 
who  had  probably  never  heard  of  the  convention  before  they 
embarked.  "  But  it  pleased  the  Lord,"  he  added,  "  to  show 
us  what  was  the  true  Gospel  alliance,  —  the  alliance  of 
heart  with  heart,  and  prayer  with  prayer ;  for,  in  the  terrible 
storm  of  our  passage,"  —  the  captain  nodded  as  he  said, 
"  terrible,"  — "  we  were  really  all  in  imminent  danger. 
And  when  the  spirit  moved  some  one  to  ask  God's  blessing 
in  the  saloon,  where  we  were  all  huddled  together,  did  it 
not  become  a  church  ?  And  when  a  brother,  of  I  know  not 
what  form,  read  the  Scripture,  did  we  not  all  take  in  the 
Bread  of  Life  ?  And  then,  when  bread  was  brought,  and 
wine,  and,  thinking  that  we  should  break  bread  no  more, 
nor  drink  wine,  save  in  the  immediate  presence  of  the 


IN    AMERICA.  91 

Lamb,  —  when  so,  men  and  women  of  every  creed,  or  of  no 
written  creed,  joined  together  at  the  table,  which  our  Lord 
in  God's  providence  there  set  in  order,  —  oh !  was  not  He  in 
the  midst  of  us,  though  we  had  no  covenant  obligation 
between  us,  but  the  common  peril  and  the  common  faith 
of  that  ever  blessed  hour?"  The  young  man's  voice  fal 
tered,  and  he  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands.  Indeed,  no 
one  spoke.  No  one  could  speak. 

Nor  was  it  till  many  days  after,  —  indeed,  not  till  the 
very  evening  when  she  was  looking  over  that  old  journal, 
that  it  occurred  to  Margaret  to  ask  whether  it  had  been 
quite  right  to  use  the  Sacrament  in  the  manner  the  young 
preacher  had  described.  She  did  not  know,  indeed,  whether 
the  Moravian  Community  was  really  a  church,  "  descended 
from  the  apostles,  and  adhering  to  the  true  faith. "*  She 
could  not  remember  whether  her  uncle  had  ever  spoken  of 
it  to  her.  That  question  did  not  much  trouble  her,  how 
ever.  If  she  ever  arrived  in  America,  she  would  ask  some 
teacher  who  would  tell  her.  But  it  was  clear  enough,  that, 
in  the  scene  in  the  tempest-tossed  ship's  saloon,  there  had 
been  no  question  at  all  whether  the  different  churches  were 
real  churches  or  not.  And  more,  she  felt  that,  as  she  had 
listened  to  the  description  of  that  scene,  she  had  thoroughly 
acquiesced  in  what  they  did  there.  It  had  seemed  the  true 
demand  of  God's  Providence  at  the  time. 

How  she  wished  Uncle  Sutherland  were  with  her!  If 
she  could  only  ask  him ! 

At  all  events,  she  was  delighted  with  the  Christian  life  of 
the  young  Moravian.  It  was  through  his  daily  visits  in  the 
steerage  that  they  made  acquaintance  first  with  the  wants 
of  the  poor  Irish  people  there.  She  was  quite  sure  his  must 

*  See  Margaret  Percival,  i.,  122. 


92 


MARGARET    PERCIVAL 


be  a  real  church,  descended  from  the  apostles,  and  adhering 
to  the  true  faith. 

She  looked  out  Moravian  Brethren  in  the  Cyclopaedia,  in 
the  cabin  library.  There  it  said  that  Count  Zinzendorf 
admitted  into  his  Communities  Romanists,  Calvinists,  and 
Lutherans,  the  only  sects  known  in  his  day,  on  an  equal 
footing.  But  that  was  long  ago.  She  thought  it  must 
have  changed  since. 

She  had,  however,  the  set  of  questions  which  this  incident 
and  her  attachment  for  Hester  had  started  on  her  mind,  on 
the  Sunday  when  she  took  that  long  walk  with  Mr.  Wilkie, 
which  we  have  described.  At  first,  in  that  walk,  while  she 
thought  him.  a  "  Churchman,"  she  had  thought  he  would  be, 
perhaps,  a  good  person  to  ask  advice  of.  It  was  this  half- 
formed  intention  which  had  given  her  more  confusion,  when 
she  discovered  her  error. 

The  reader  will,  perhaps,  excuse  so  long  a  retrospect  as 
this,  because  it  accounts  not  only  for  Margaret's  confusion 
at  that  time,  but  for  her  trouble  of  mind,  the  next  day,  as  to 
what  her  duty  was  in  regard  to  Mr.  Wilkie's  invitation. 
She  met  him  on  Monday,  with  some  distrust,  not  of  him, 
but  of  what  she  ought  to  do.  She  was  glad  when  a  visit 
which  she  made  with  him  to  the  poor  Leeds  woman  and 
her  children  passed,  Monday  afternoon,  without  any  distinct 
allusion  to  the  plan  of  her  going  with  him.  Tuesday,  she 
consulted  Mrs.  Newton,  her  hostess,  as  to  the  possibility  of 
her  finding  some  neighborhood  where  she  could  employ  her 
self  in  teaching,  surrounded  wholly  by  influences  of  the 
Episcopal  Church.  But  Mrs.  Newton  was  from  a  part  of 
New  York  where  that  church  had  no  wide  hold,  —  she  was 
herself,  as  her  husband  was,  of  the  Dutch  Reformed  Com 
munion  ;  and  the  only  suggestion  she  could  make  was,  that, 


IN   AMERICA.  93 

perhaps  in  some  southern  state,  on  the  plantation  of  some 
gentleman  who  should  be  himself  an  Episcopalian,  Margaret 
would  be  best  satisfied.  But  this  plan  Margaret  shrank  from. 
While  she  was  doubting,  whether  or  no  her  uncle  would 
think  it  wrong  for  her  to  expose  herself  to  a  temptation  so 
very  slight  as  a  visit  to  Mr.  Wilkie's  surely  was,  she 
received  the  following  note  from  Mrs.  Wilkie.  It  put 
Margaret  more  at  ease  than  all  her  meditations  had  done. 

MRS.  WILKIE  TO   MARGARET    PERCIVAL. 

"Fairmeadorv,  October,  1849. 
"Mv  DEAR  Miss  PERCIVAL:  — 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear,  from  my  husband,  of  your  safe 
arrival  in  America ;  —  more  glad  that  he  has  claimed  your 
first  months  here  for  a  visit  with  us.  I  write  to  join  my 
request' with  his,  that  you  will  not  hesitate  to  let  him  bring 
you  here,  on  his  return.  You  will  not  find  us  quite  stran 
gers,  for  my  daughter  Anna,  and  her  friend  Gertrude,  have, 
as  well  as  I,  all  been  acquainted  with  some  parts  of  your 
English  life.  Let  me  assure  you  that  we  shall  all  exert 
ourselves  to  make  you  feel  at  home  in  New  England. 

"  As  we  hope  to  have  a  long  visit  from  you,  my  dear 
Miss  Percival,  you  will  not  think  that  I  am  too  motherly  if 
I  add,  —  what,  indeed,  Mr.  Wilkie  may  have  said  to  you,  — 
that  we  are  within  an  hour's  drive  of  the  Episcopal  church, 
in  Beech  Woods.  I  know  how  much  you  will  prize  its 
services,  and  that  you  would  not  feel  quite  at  home  with  us, 
if  you  could  not  enjoy  them  regularly. 

"  One  of  the  pleasures  we  can  promise  you  is,  an 
acquaintance  and  frequent  opportunity  to  meet  with  Mr. 
Ross,  its  rector. 

=*  #  *  *  *  * 

"  Truly  yours, 

"ANNA  WILKIE." 


94  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

This  last  clause,  about  the  church  at  Beech  Woods,  quite 
decided  Margaret.  It  would  be  silly  to  waver,  when  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Wilkie  were  so  kind.  There  was  no  deviation 
from  her  uncle's  advice.  Indeed,  was  it  not  possible  that 
Mrs.  Wilkie  was  herself  a  "Church-woman?"  Margaret 
read  the  note  again  and  again. 

When  Mr.  Wilkie  next  called,  she  concluded  her  arrange 
ments  for  leaving  New  York  with  him.  And  on  Friday 
they  made  the  journey  to  Fairmeadow. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  Now,  Lizzie,  what  shall  we  play  ?  The  whole  after 
noon  to  ourselves  !  Wrhat  shall  we  do  with  it  ?  Let  us  go 
up  into  the  woods,  behind  the  house,  and  play  entirely  by 
ourselves.  No  Miss  Eliza  Spenser,  no  Maria,  to  interrupt 
us." 

"  How  I  wish  there  were  a  little  brook  running  through 
the  woods,  as  there  is  at  home  !  Then  we  could  make  little 
boats,  and  the  brook,  we  could  play,  was  the  sea." 

"  If  we  could  only  be  in  our  home  again,  and  Aunt  Clara 
with  us,  and  Arthur,  and  George,  and  Gertrude,  back 
again ' " 

"Let  us  play  this  rose-bush  is  Gertrude,  and  that 
seringa-tree  Aunt  Clara,  and  those  two  large  hollyhocks 
shall  be  the  Miss  Spensers,  —  only  the  Miss  Spensers  are 
always  talking,  and  the  hollyhocks  are  very  silent." 

"  But  I  like  Maria  Spenser,  and  I  think  she  may  have 
been  right  when  she  told  me  Bessie  was  too  ugly  to  bring 
into  the  parlor.  I  would  not  have  a  new  doll,  if  I  could ; 


IN    AMERICA.  95 

but  then  their  parlor  always  looks  so  nice,  it  migut  look 
rather  badly  to  see  poor  Bessie,  with  her  broken  nose, 
sitting  on  the  corner  of  the  sofa.  I  only  wish  they  would 
not,  both  of  them,  be  eternally  reading  or  studying,  for 
ever.  Even  Aunt  Clara,  who,  I  am  sure,  is  as  wise  as 
anybody,  used  to  find  time  to  laugh  and  play." 

"  And  she  could  talk  just  as  well  while  she  was  sewing 
as  if  she  were  not.  But,  when  Maria  Spenser  once  begins 
counting  her  crochet,  you  can't  expect  an  answer  from 
her  for  half  an  hour ;  and  she  never  seems  to  get  anything 
done,  either." 

"  But  then,  Lizzie,  it  is  not  right  to  talk  so  of  the  Spen- 
sers ;  though  Mrs.  Spenser  is  not  our  aunt,  she  acts  kind 
enough  for  one,  and  likes  to  hear  us  call  her  Aunt  Spenser. 
How  good  she  was,  when  I  felt  sick,  the  other  day !  " 

"  If  she  had  not  set  you  to  reading  somebody's  physiology, 
as  soon  as  you  were  well  enough  to  hold  up  your  head ! " 

"  Aunt  Clara  said  she  thought  we  should  learn  a  great 
deal  while  we  were  here,  and  that  we  should  get  to  love 
them  all  very  much,  and  that  it  was  very  kind  in  them  to 
have  us  come  here  to  stay  the  whole  winter." 

"  I  think  I  should  rather  not  to  be  as  learned  as  Miss 
Eliza  Spenser,  though  people  say  she  is  very  handsome ; 
and  I  wish  they  would  not  make  us  sit  in  their  nice  parlor 
all  day  long." 

"  Well,  Lizzie,  don't  let  us  sit  talking  here,  using  up  our 
time.  Do  you  know,  I  think  I  could  get  up  into  this 
crooked  old  tree,  its  branches  are  so  low.  I  will  clamber 
up,  and  pull  you  along  after  me.  And  let  us  sit  here  among 
the  leaves,  and  we  can  watch  the  birds  in  the  trees  round 
about.  And,  Lizzie,  you  shall  tell  a  story.  What  nice 
stories  Aunt  Clara  used  to  tell  us  !  But  you  shall  tell  a 
story  now,  —  all  about  a  knight  —  " 


96  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

"  Such  a  splendid  knight !  He  wore  an  armor,  all  of 
bright,  flashing  gold.  He  set  out,  one  day,  and  mounted 
his  black  steed,  and  thought  he  would  go  out  to  try  his 
fortunes.  His  way  led  him  along  through  a  dark  forest, 
and  presently  he  came  to  a  deep  stream.  He  had  just 
crossed  it,  on  a  narrow  bridge,  when  he  thought  he  heard 
voices.  They  seemed  to  come  from  the  bushes  round  him. 
He  listened  again,  and  found  all  the  little  hips  and  haws 
on  the  rose-bushes  round  were  singing — " 

Meanwhile,  the  Misses  Spenser  were  discussing  their 
plans  for  the  evening. 

"  I  don't  think,  Maria,  that  I  can  possibly  go  in,  in  the 
omnibus,  and  sit  through  The  Enchanted  Beauty  with  the 
children.  And  I  am  quite  sure  Mr.  Murray  will  have 
tickets  for  us  to  go  to  the  concert  with  him,  this  evening." 

Mr.  Murray  was  the  gentleman  to  whom  Miss  Spen 
ser  was  engaged  to  be  married.  There  was  no  prospect  of 
their  marriage  taking  place  at  present,  as  it  was  to  be 
delayed  until  Mr.  Murray  should  be  settled  in  some  lucra 
tive  position. 

"  Then,  Eliza,  I  do  not  see  why  it  is  not  best  to  take  up 
with  Mr.  Ashton's  proposition,  and  let  him  come  out,  and 
take  the  girls,  with  Arthur  and  George." 

"  I  should  not  think  Mr.  Ashton  would  approve  of  taking 
Lizzie  to  such  a  place,  she  is  such  an  excitable  little  per 
son.  But,  I  suppose  it  would  be  impossible  to  separate  the 
two  girls ;  and  Mr.  Ashton  can  judge  for  himself." 

The  delight  of  Agnes  and  Lizzie  was  unbounded  when 
they  found  they  were  indeed  to  go,  with  their  father  and 
brothers,  to  see  The  Enchanted  Beauty.  They  were  all 
ready  at  an  early  hour,  and  were  quite  prepared  when  their 
father  came  to  take  them  to  the  omnibus  that  was  to  carry 
them  into  town. 


IN   AMERICA.  97 

The  Misses  Spenser,  in  their  way,  enjoyed  their  evening's 
entertainment. 

"  How  glorious !  "  said  Mr.  Murray,  at  the  close  of  the 
overture  to  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  —  "  how  glorious 
such  music  is !  Most  especially  so,  when  one  has  been 
shut  up,  as  I  have,  all  day.  It  seems  to  bring  with  it  a 
refreshing,  cooling  air.  It  exhilarates  and  elevates  one's 
mind,  and  reminds  us  of  something  higher  than  this  every 
day  world,  and  all  its  trifling  concerns." 

Eliza  was  studying  the  pattern  of  a  collar  in  front  of  her. 
The  work  upon  it  wound  in  and  out  in  a  most  intricate  way, 
and  yet  she  fancied  she  could  catch  it.  She  looked  up, 
however,  with  a  thoughtful  smile,  —  for  her  study  had  given 
her  face  a  thoughtful  expression, — 

"  It  is  indeed  so,"  she  said. 

"  And  now  we  are  to  have  a  song.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
chorus  at  the  end,  I  should  propose  our  going  away  now. 
One  has  such  a  confused  feeling,  after  listening  to  such  a 
variety  of  kinds  of  music." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  so  tired,  I  would  be  glad  to  go  now;  but 
then  Maria  would  not  think  of  going.  And  she  wants,  too, 
to  speak  to  Mrs.  Pearson,  after  the  concert  is  over." 

The  next  morning  after -the  concert,  the  Misses  Spenser 
and  Agnes  and  Lizzie  sat  together  in  the  parlor.  Eliza, 
with  paper  and  pencil,  was  drawing  out  the  pattern  of  the 
"love  of  a  collar;"  Maria  had  a  volume  of  the  Queens  of 
England,  —  she  was  to  finish  it,  if  possible,  that  morning,  to 
send  in  to  the  Pearsons.  Agnes  and  Lizzie,  in  a  low  tone, 
had  been  living  over  again  the  delights  of  the  night  before. 
Now  they  were  tired,  and  wanted  some  active  amusement. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Eliza,  will  you  take  your  chair  opposite 
Maria's  ?     Lizzie  and  I  want  to  play  omnibus.     You  need 
not  stir,  you  know ;  we  won't  clutter  up  the  room ;  for  the 
9 


yo  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

table,  with  its  six  legs,  is  to  be  the  pair  of  horses ;  and 
Lizzie  is  to  be  the  old  lady  that  keeps  getting  in  and  out, 
and  I  am  to  be  the  omnibus-boy.  We  won't  come  to  you 
for  money  at  all ;  we  will  play  you  have  paid." 

"  My  dear  Agnes,  how  can  I  move  ?  Don't  you  see  I 
must  have  my  foot  on  this  footstool,  or  I  can't  draw  my 
pattern  ?  And,  talking  to  me,  you  just  put  my  ideas  out  of 
my  head." 

"  Perhaps  Maria  will  move,"  said  Agnes. 

But  no;  Maria  was  too  deep  in  her  book  to  hear  the 
entreaties,  which  had  now  grown  quite  faint.  Agnes,  in 
despair,  went  to  find  Aunt  Spenser.  Aunt  Spenser  had 
promised  to  give  her  a  piece  of  velvet  to  make  a  pincushion 
with,  for  Arthur.  She  left  Lizzie  sitting  dreaming  in  the 
easy-chair. 

That  will  be  a  very  pretty  collar  you  are  working  upon, 
Eliza,  and  it  makes  very  pretty,  lady-like  work  in  your 
hands ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  finish  it  very  quickly, 
and  it  will  be  quite  right  for  your  friends  to  praise  your 
skill.  But  I  am  afraid  you  have  forgotten  your  fear  of 
yesterday,  when  you  dreaded  that  the  excitement  of  seeing 
the  Enchanted  Beauty  should  be  too  much  for  little  Lizzie. 
If  the  thought  would  only  cross  your  mind  again,  perhaps 
you  might  lay  aside  your  work,  and,  seeing  her  with  her 
head  leaning  on  her  little  hands,  and  her  brow  drawn  to 
gether,  you  might  perhaps  arouse  her  from  those  dreams 
she  is  wandering  in.  Or  you,  Maria,  might  lay  aside  your 
book,  and  say  a  bright,  cheering  word  to  the  over-excited, 
tired  Lizzie.  What  good  does  it  do  you  to  know  whether 
Matilda  of  Scotland  reigned  before  Matilda  of  Flanders,  or 
who  was  the  wife  of  Stephen  ?  I  fear  me,  by  next  week, 
you  will  have  forgotten  all.  Not  that  I  would  have  you, 
for  that  reason,  throw  aside  the  book ;  but,  while  you  have 
this  little  Lizzie  by  your  side,  you  might,  perhaps,  have 


IN   AMERICA.  99 

something  better  to  do.  As  for  the  book,  it  may  prove  very 
good  reading  for  you.  It  was  written  by  a  woman ;  —  there 
is  something  to  excite  you.  A  woman  could  actually  dis 
entangle  and  look  clearly  into  this  twisted  chain  of  kings 
and  queens,  and  bring  down  even  before  your  eyes  the 
lives  of  women  who  lived  so  long  ago,  and  such  a  different 
life  too.  There  is  something  else  to  rouse  you.  These 
Matildas,  who  had  not  the  liberty  you  have  of  entering  libra 
ries,  listening  to  high  and  intellectual  conversation,  going 
to  concerts,  —  they  passed  their  monotonous  lives  in  weav 
ing  tapestry,  —  they  could  find  nothing  better  to  do.  It  was 
a  great  thing  to  find  so  much  for  their  fingers  to  do ;  as  for 
their  minds,  as  they  sat  before  their  tapestry  frames,  hour 
after  hour,  no  one  has  asked  them  what  they  did  with 
them.  And  now,  with  the  addition  two  or  three  centuries 
can  make  to  your  resources,  you  will  turn  from  your  book 
to  your  tapestry,  and  set  your  whole  heart  upon  finishing 
"that  leaf"  before  dinner. 

And  poor  Lizzie  !  Agnes  returned  with  her  velvet  and 
card-board,  and  was  about  seating  herself  where  she  could 
make  as  little  "  clutter"  as  possible,  to  cut  out  and  arrange 
her  pincushion.  She  saw  Lizzie  sitting  just  where  she  left 
her,  and  she  knew  she  ought  to  do  something  to  rouse  her. 
"  Lizzie,  suppose  you  begin  that  letter  to  Gertrude  ?  Aunt 
Spenser  gave  me  a  sheet  of  paper,  the  other  day,  for  it, 
and  told  me  we  might  sit  at  her  little  table,  in  the  corner, 
any  time,  to  write  it.  We  will  whisper,  so  that  we  need 
not  disturb  the  girls ;  and  I  will  bring  my  work,  and  sit  by 
your  side." 


100  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER    XV. 

LIZZIE    ASHTON    TO    GERTRUDE    ASHTON. 

"  MY  dear  Gertrude,"  ran  Lizzie's  letter,  "  I  believe 
Agnes  wrote  you,  some  weeks  ago,  we  had  arrived  at  the 
Spensers.  I  thought  I  would  write  you  too,  to  tell  you 
what  we  are  doing.  We  like  the  Spensers  very  well. 
They  say  Eliza  Spenser  is  very  handsome ;  but  both  Eliza 
and  Maria  are  very  much  grown  up.  And  I  almost  hope 
Agnes  and  I,  when  we  grow  up  to  be  young  ladies,  will 
not  be  just  so.  But  I  suppose  all  young  ladies  must  sing 
a  great  deal,  and  read  a  great  deal,  and  have  very  little 
to  say  to  children,  like  Agnes  and  me.  That  is  not  your 
way,  to  be  sure ;  but  Agnes  and  I  think  you  are  very  differ 
ent  from  most  young  ladies,  and  we  remember  what  frolics 
you  sometimes  had  with  us  at  Elmwood.  And  we  wish 
we  could  go  back  there,  and  have  some  pleasant  games 
with  you.  Agnes  says  she  would  be  very  careful  not  to 
upset  the  ink  over  your  poetry -book;  for  we  have  been 
learning  a  great  deal,  since  we  have  been  here,  to  be 
neat  and  careful.  But  we  do  have  pleasant  times  here.  1 
must  not  forget  to  tell  you,  how  we  went  to  The  Enchanted 
Beauty,  last  night.  But  Agnes  said  I  must  not  fill  my 
whole  letter  with  it,  as  perhaps  I  should,  if  I  had  begun 
with  it.  I  believe  you  do  not  care  much  for  such  amuse 
ments,  but  I  do  think  you  would  like  to  have  seen  such 
splendid  palaces,  and  pretty  peasant  girls,  and  then  real 
flying  fairies.  I  did  wish,  almost,  I  were  a  princess,  even 
if  1  were  enchanted,  that  I  might  sleep  on  such  a  glorious 
throne,  with  all  the  retainers  about,  and  ladies  playing  upon 
lutes,  and  everything  shining  in  jewels  and  gold.  And  the 
princess  was  a  very  beautiful  lady.  If  we  were  sitting  on 


IN   AMERICA.  101 

the  grassy  bank,  at  Elmwood,  I  would  tell  you  the  whole 
story,  and  what  a  dreadful  dragon  there  was.  Arthur  and 
George  laughed  at  me,  because  1  was  afraid  of  him ;  and, 
indeed,  the  knight,  though  he  looked  so  small,  conquered 
him.  For  Arthur  and  George  were  with  us,  and  so  was 
papa.  It  has  taken  me  so  long  to  write  this,  that  I  must 
stop.  Since  I  began,  I  have  left  off  to  eat  dinner ;  and  now 
it  is  afternoon,  and  I  must  bid  you  good-by.  Maria  Spen 
ser  said  that  I  might  put  in  my  letter  that  we  were  very 
good  girls.  We  do  not  have  much  studying,  this  winter,  as 
papa  did  not  think  it  was  best.  We  recite  French,  twice  a 
week,  to  Eliza  Spenser,  and  read  history  with  Maria.  And 
Mrs.  Spenser  fits  our  work,  and  sees  to  our  sewing." 

Mr.  Murray  came  in,  in  the  afternoon,  to  propose  that 
Agnes  and  Lizzie  should  go  with  him  to  a  children's  party, 
given  by  a  little  niece  of  his. 

Mrs.  Spenser  thought  that  as  the  girls  had  been  out  the 
evening  before,  it  might  be  better  for  them  to  stay  at  home. 

"  But  this  is  not  a  party.  I  ought  not  to  call  it  so.  The 
children  are  to  have  a  frolic,  and  play  some  games,  and  they 
can  come  home  early.  And,  Eliza  and  Maria,  you  will 
come  too;  every  one  enjoys  a  children's  frolic." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  said  Eliza,  "  if  you  will  take  the 
responsibility.  Now,  this  morning,  I  could  not  make  Agnes 
pay  any  attention  to  her  French  verb.  I  dare  say  her  mind 
was  full  of  last  night's  excitement." 

"  But,  dear  Cousin  Eliza,  I  have  been  studying  it  hard, 
this  afternoon,  and  I  shall  say  it  perfectly,  to-morrow." 

"  Mr.  Ashton  does  not  wish  the  girls  to  be  kept  studying, 
this  winter;  you  know  he  said  they  must  have  recreation." 

"  1  have  no  objection  to  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Spen 
ser.  -"It  is  the  principle  that  I  object  to.  I  think  Mr. 
9* 


102  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

Ashton  is  wrong,  and  that  such  a  winter  will  just  unsettle 
the  girls'  minds." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Spenser,  I  am  going  to  disagree  with  you 
entirely;  and  I  think  Eliza  and  Maria  want  a  winter's 
recreation,  too." 

"Now,  you  are  too  bad,"  said  Eliza.  "It  was  only  the 
other  day,  you  wanted  to  set  me  to  work.  You  talked  to 
me  about  disciplining  my  mind.  I  declare,  Charles,  you 
have  such  magnificent  ideas,  and  strange  notions,  it  is  hard 
to  keep  up  with  them." 

"  I  proposed  studying  German,  to  you,  because  I  thought 
it  would  be  good  for  both  our  minds,  to  devote  them  to  a 
study  as  difficult  as  that  of  the  German  language.  I  think 
it  would  do  us  all  good  to  work  harder,  and  then  to  play 
more  earnestly.  Instead  of  proposing  to  me  a  game  of 
chess,  in  the  evening,  when  your  mind  is  wearied  with  the 
duties  of  the  day,  and  my  head  is  filled  with  long  lists  of 
figures,  and  running  on  prices,  it  would  be  better  for  both 
of  us,  and  Maria,  too,  to  take  a  romp  with  the  children." 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  Agnes  and  Lizzie,  rushing  about  the 
room.  "  Let  us  have  one  now.  Mr.  Murray,  you  shall  be 
old  man  in  the  castle  !  " 

"  Run  up  stairs,  Agnes,  Lizzie,  if  you  want  to  be  ready 
for  Mr.  Murray's  party.  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Spenser. 

"  I  have  been  speaking,  Eliza,  partly,  on  account  of  those 
two  children.  It  pains  me  to  see  Lizzie  sitting  with  her 
mind  evidently  filled  with  only  dreams  and  fancies.  She 
needs  to  be  roused,  and  to  have  her  daily  life  made  playful 
and  joyous.  Even  Agnes  looks  restrained,  as  she  sits  with 
her  work  in  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  following  the  motions 
of  the  birds  on  the  trees  by  the  window.  But  it  is  not  on 
their  account,  alone,  I  am  speaking  so  seriously." 


IN   AMERICA.  103 

"  Ah,  well,  what  would  you  say  on  mine  ?  I  am  accus 
tomed,  Charles,  to  an  occasional  lecture  from  you.  I  will 
allow  they  come  rare  enough  for  me  to  be  willing  to  submit." 

"  You  have  been,  all  your  life,  accustomed  to  having 
stated  hours  for  all  your  different  occupations.  This  has 
given  you  a  certain  decision  of  character,  and  a  power  of 
dividing  your  time  methodically.  And  you  rightly  feel  you 
have  an  advantage  over  those  who  have  been  leading  a  cha 
otic  sort  of  life,  and  don't  know  now  where  to  put  this 
piece  of  an  hour,  or  that  corner  of  a  day,  because  it  is  a 
piece  of  time  they  had  not  calculated  upon,  and  that  they 
do  not  know  what  to  do  with.  The  circumstances  of  your 
life  have  taught  you  a  noble  lesson,  and  you  have  learnt  it 
noblv,  too,  —  how  to  take  care  of  the  minutes,  that  the 
hours  may  take  care  of  themselves.  Now,  suddenly,  you 
have  a  new  opportunity  for  discipline;  that  is,  in  the 
arrival  of  these  children  here.  Now,  you  have  an  oppor 
tunity  for  the  discipline  of  interruption.  All  these  hoarded 
hours  are  broken  in  upon." 

"  That  is  just  it.  Charles,  it  is  you  who  have  taught  me 
the  value  of  these  hours ;  and  I  cannot  agree  that  I  have 
learnt  my  lesson  well.  I  do  see  and  acknowledge  the  use 
fulness  of  having  my  time  apportioned  for  certain  purposes ; 
then,  what  am  I  to  do  with  these  interruptions  ?  Indeed, 
what  are  the  children  to  learn,  if  they  see  my  time  wasted, 
—  a  piece  of  work  begun,  without  my  having  the  time  to 
finish  it.  —  or  some  useful  book  begun,  and  hanging  on,  day 
after  day !  I  say  again,  Charles,  that  you  found  me  leading 
a  very  useless  sort  of  life ;  now  I  am  awakened  to  the  desire 
of  doing  something  to  improve  myself,  to  enlighten  my 
mind.  I  see  how  little  I  know,  especially  when  I  hear 
you  talk  of  things  which,  before,  I  have  never  conceived  of; 
and  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  give  every  moment  to  laying  up 


104  MARGARET    PERCFVAL 

some  store  in  my  mind.  Even  in  that,  my  courage  fails, 
and  I  sink  back  often  into  some  useless  occupation.  When 
my  mind  does  get  braced  up  to  some  higher  employment, 
what  am  I  to  do,  when  one  of  these  interruptions  comes  ?  " 

"  Welcome  it,  smile  upon  it,  and,  especially  if  it  comes  in 
the  shape  of  one  of  these  bright  joyous  girls,  embrace  it  as  a 
heavenly  messenger !  The  reason  why  your  mind,  at  times, 
sinks  back  as  you  say  it  does,  is  because  it  needs  this  relaxa 
tion.  It  cannot  bear  this  constant  bracing,  and  you  must 
give  it  a  change  of  treatment.  You  must  teach  your  mind 
to  love  your  book,  to  be  filled  with  what  is  in  it  while  it 
lies  before  your  eyes ;  and  then,  when  one  of  these  interrup 
tions  comes,  lay  down  your  book  directly,  laugh  and  talk 
with  this  person  who  has  opportunely  come  to  rouse  you 
from  over-study,  and  have  a  bright  glance  for  whoever  it 
may  be.  And  now,  on  with  your  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 
let  us  go  and  learn  of  these  little  ones  how  to  be  gay  and 
joyous  and  grateful.  Let  us  grow  younger  with  them,  and 
not  grow  old  with  the  world.  All  these  languages  that  we 
study,  one  heaped  upon  the  other,  they  are  all  dead  lan 
guages,  if  we  have  not  first  learned  how  to  use  our  own, 
gayly  and  cheerfully,  with  bright,  happy  thoughts  bursting 
from  our  lips,  and  dancing  on  our  tongues." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

MRS.  SPENSER'S  character  was  one  of  great  energy.  She 
had  the  gift  of  concentrating  her  powers.  The  first  branch 
of  industry  which  she  taught  her  daughters  was  that  of 
sewing,  in  all  its  forms.  At  that  time,  the  resource  of  read 
ing  was  entirely  forbidden.  To  read  a  story-book  was  con- 


IN   AMERICA.  105 

sidered  a  wicked  waste  of  time.  Every  amusement  in  some 
way  introduced  the  occupation  of  the  needle,  and  she  used 
every  effort  to  throw  a  charm  around  it.  As  her  daughters 
grew  older,  a  literary  mania  seized  upon  Mrs.  Spenser. 
She  had  a  passion  for  lectures ;  and  Eliza  and  Maria  zeal 
ously  attended  every  course  of  lectures  that  the  neighboring1 
town  offered  them.  Their  time  was  carefully  apportioned 
out;  Maria  sat  a  certain  number  of  hours  at  the  piano, 
and  gained  such  skill  in  her  performance  there,  that  one 
wished  only  a  breath  of  life  and  animation  to  be  poured  in 
upon  her,  and  awake  the  formal  mechanical  sounds  into 
music.  Mrs.  Spenser  never  wished  her  daughters  to  con 
sider  their  education  completed;  they  were  to  turn  every 
thought,  to  give  up  every  moment,  to  forming  an  intel 
lectual  fabric  of  great  perfection. 

It  was  a  matter  of  some  surprise,  when  Eliza  Spenser's 
engagement  to  Mr.  Murray  first  came  out.  It  surprised 
much  Eliza's  friends.  They  had  always  thought  that  in 
time  she  would  form  an  engagement  with  Hubert  Spenser. 
Hubert  was  a  distant  connection  of  this  branch  of  the 
Spenser  family,  and  had  always  been  much  at  home  in 
their  family  circle.  Maria  wondered  much  that  her  sister 
could  turn  her  back  upon  Hubert  Spenser,  he  was  so  very 
handsome.  It  had  always  pleased  Maria  to  have  him  their 
devoted  attendant  at  all  public  places.  He  looked  so  well 
with  Eliza,  everybody  remarked  what  a  handsome  couple 
they  formed.  To  be  sure,  just  now,  he  had  nothing  to  live 
upon.  But  no  more  had  Mr.  Murray.  Mr.  Murray,  who 
was  scarcely  an  inch  taller  than  Eliza  herself,  and  whom  no 
one  would  think  of  marking  in  a  public  assembly  !  A  kind, 
pleasant  face  he  had,  to  be  sure ;  but,  then,  commonplace. 
Commonplace  he  certainly  looked,  by  the  side  of  Hubert. 
Maria  had  often  remarked,  with  pleasure,  in  walking  down 


106  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

Washington-street,  behind  Hubert  and  Eliza,  how  every 
body  turned  to  look  again  at  them.  It  was  not  so  when 
they  went  about  with  Mr.  Murray.  They  had  more  con 
versation,  to  be  sure,  —  Mr.  Murray  was  always  lively  and 
animated ;  but,  then,  Maria  always  thought  much  of  appear 
ances. 

The  same  surprise  affected,  too,  Mr.  Murray's  friends. 
They  wondered  how  he  could  fancy  one  of  the  Spensers. 
Eliza,  especially,  who  bore,  they  thought,  that  kind  of  inani 
mate  beauty  that  chills.  What  was  going  to  become  of  all 
his  warmth  of  feeling,  that  demanded  so  much  in  return ;  of 
that  passionate  admiration  he  had  always  expressed  for 
woman,  —  a  true  woman  ? 

And  what  had  led  Mr.  Murray  to  Eliza  Spenser  ?  Per 
haps,  after  all,  with  all  his  strength  of  character,  and  self- 
control,  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  be  led  away  by  mere  out 
ward,  personal  beauty.  Or,  perhaps,  he  saw  a  little  deeper, 
and  was  interested  in  watching  the  struggle  of  one  just 
making  an  effort  to  keep  out  from  the  sea  of  admiration, 
towards  which  a  strong  current  was  setting.  He  had  a. 
great  many  theories  and  fancies,  —  his  friends  said  he  was 
very  visionary ;  perhaps  he  was  so,  when  he  thought  he  saw 
in  himself  a  power  to  stretch  forth  a  saving  hand.  Eliza 
and  Maria  had  received  from  their  mother  one  inheritance, 
—  a  love  of  a  fine  outward  appearance,  and  great  gratifica 
tion  in  cold  admiration.  Perhaps  Maria  possessed  these  in  the 
strongest  degree,  and  was  more  flattered  when  she  drew  her 
shawl  around  her  at  some  public  entertainment,  conscious 
of  the  many  glances  that  were  thrown  admiringly  towards 
her,  from  people  whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  might 
never  see  again,  than  she  would  have  been  with  one  word 
of  encouragement  from  mother  or  sister.  But  Mr.  Murray's 
upon  Eliza,  —  that  was  a  question  time  was  ** 


IN   AMERICA.  107 

decide.  And  time  had  in  one  way  shown  this,  —  that  she 
had  some  influence  over  him ;  for  the  interest  that  led  hirrr 
first  to  watch  her  struggling  after  something  higher  than 
admiration,  deepened  so  far  that  he  offered  her  love,  and 
Mr.  Murray  and  Eliza  were  engaged  to  be  married. 

Some  few  friends  were  assembled  at  Mrs.  Spenser's. 
Agnes  and  Lizzie  had  been  despatched  to  bed.  Maria  had 
just  been  playing  a  magnificent  piece,  with  brilliant  varia 
tions,  and  conversation  was  renewed. 

"  O,  Mr.  Murray,"  said  one,  "  do  you  not  think  it  would 
be  charming  to  have  such  a  journey  to  the  Midnight  Sun  as 
Miss  Bremer  tells  about  ?  And  such  an  expedition  might 
really  be  got  up  here." 

"  But,  don't  you  know,"  said  Maria,  "  what  a  particular 
charm  there  was  hung  over  the  mountain  all  the  party  went 
to?  All  the  gentlemen,  you  know,  offered  themselves  to 
some  lady." 

"Ah,  well,  Miss  Maria,"  said  Mr.  Leonards,  "if  our 
party  were  only  well  enough  selected — " 

"  But  why,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  do  you  want  to  go  so  far, 
just  to  see  the  sun  rise  and  set?  I  have  seen  young  ladies 
sit  buried  deep  in  some  work  or  book,  when  a  gorgeous  sun 
set  lay  not  more  than  ten  minutes'  walk  away  from  them." 

"  You  will  sometimes  be  provokingly  matter  of  fact ! "  said 
Maria. 

"  But  marvellous  romances,"  said  Mr.  Leonards,  "  can 
arise  from  even  sunsets  here,  witness  — " 

"I  won't  have  anything,  however,  Maria,"  said  Mr. 
Murray,  "  to  say  against  travelling,  in  any  direction,  or  in 
any  form.  And  I  will  agree  with  you,  that  one  may  enjoy, 
in  travelling,  plenty  of  romance.  After  one  is  shut  up  in  a 
railroad  car,  for  instance,  one  has  seldom  anything  more 
pressing  than  to  let  one's  imagination  wander  about  one's 


108  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

companions,  with  which  the  car  is  filled.  In  the  course  of 
some  hours'  journey,  one  has  grown  deeply  interested  in  the 
private  history  of  the  dramatis  personae.  We  wonder  where 
each  one  came  from,  —  where  that  pretty  girl  opposite  is 
going,  —  what  this  elderly  lady  is  going  to  do  with  so 
many  bundles,  or  that  man  with  all  his  coats.  We  even 
fancy  that  our  interest  will  not  cease  with  our  journey's  end. 
We  shall  be  on  the  watch  to  see  whether  that  poor,  wayworn 
woman  has  any  friend  to  welcome  her.  Perhaps  we  shall 
offer  to  carry  out  the  elderly  lady's  pot  of  geranium.  Cer 
tainly,  we  shall  look  to  see  for  whom  it  is  the  young  lady  is 
looking  out  so  eagerly.  She  has  laid  aside  her  book,  and  is 
already  examining  the  landscape,  as  if  it  were  familiar 
ground." 

"  I  hope  you  did  watch  her.  I  would  like  to  know  what 
became  of  her." 

"  That  is  my  point  that  I  am  coming  at.  I  say  we  fancy 
we  have  made  dear  friends  of  all  these  various  personages ; 
but  as  soon  as  our  journey  ends,  and  our  prison  doors  are 
opened  again,  all  the  old  associations  come  back  again,  — 
friends  to  be  seen,  business  to  be  carried  on,  —  we  rush  out 
from  our  world  of  fancy,  overturn  the  elderly  lady's  gera 
nium,  tread  on  the  young  lady's  feet,  run  off  with  one  of 
the  old  gentleman's  coats,  and  all  the  fancied  sorrows  and 
hopes  of  our  friends  of  six  hours  have  quite  vanished." 

"  Mr.  Murray,  why  don't  you  write  for  some  of  the  maga 
zines?" 

"  O,"  said  Maria,  "  he  would  be  altogether  too  prosy ;  he 
would  never  get  in  any  story,  —  any  romance ;  he  might  do, 
perhaps,  for  the  heavy  articles." 

"  It  does  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  «  for  you  to  talk 
of  romance,  —  you,  who  to-day  turned  a  cold  ear  to  that 
pretty,  tragic  story  of  Italian  romance." 


IN   AMERICA.  109 

•'  Ah,  now,  Mr.  Murray,"  said  Maria,  "  you  are  going  to 
try  your  hand  at  a  real  story  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  I  could  not  hope  to  succeed  in  repeating  it.  You 
would  all  have  to  imagine  what  Maria  saw,  —  this  lovely 
Italian  lady,  with  her  child,  which  realized  the  idea  of  child 
ish  beauty  that  some  fine  pictures  give  us.  Then,  over  this 
lady  hung  a  veil  of  sadness.  She  had  been  obliged  to  fly 
from  her  native  country,  with  her  husband  and  children. 
But  II  Signer  died,  and  was  buried  in  the  mid  ocean." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Eliza;  "does  he  mean, 
Maria,  that  you  have  met  such  a  lady?" 

"  He  does  not  mean  to  surprise  me,  —  he  means  to  make 
me  ashamed,"  said  Maria. 

"  I  was  only  filled  with  wonder  that  Maria,  so  filled  with 
romance,  should  not  have  been  more  moved  by  a  story  that 
contained  such  deep  points  of  tragic  interest." 

"  But  if  I  thought  it  to  be  a  story ;  if  I  fancied  what  this 
woman  told  me  not  to  be  true  ?  " 

"  You  would  have  given,  Maria,  twenty-five  cents,  at  least, 
for  a  cheap  edition  of  a  story  half  as  well  told.  But,  indeed, 
1  began  in  this  way  only  to  interest  you  in  this  woman, 
whom  I  met  this  afternoon,  coming  from  your  door.  I  went 
with  her  to  her  home ;  and  that  is  what  I  want  to  scold  you 
for,  —  that  when  she  called  upon  you,  you  were  not,  at  least, 
polite  enough  to  return  her  call." 

At  Eliza's  request,  Mr.  Murray  told  more  of  his  visit  to 
the  poor  Italian  woman,  who  had  been  supporting  herself, 
ever  since  she  came  into  the  country,  with  the  assistance  of 
her  young  son,  who  had  lately  met  with  an  accident,  and 
was  confined  at  home  with  a  broken  arm. 

Maria's  feelings  were  soon  enlisted,  and  she  began  to 
form,  with  her  friends,  some  systematic  plan  of  relief  for 
these  poor  sufferers.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Murray  talked  aside 
10 


110  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

with  Eliza.     He  had  some  peculiar  ideas  of  charity,  that  we 
may  mention  presently. 

Hubert  Spenser  had  joined  but  little  in  the  conversation 
of  the  evening.  He  was  examining  a  book  of  engravings ; 
and  sat  turning  them  over,  beneath  a  strong  light,  that 
brought  out  fully  the  beauty  and  regularity  of  his  features. 
He  had  a  great  deal  to  say  of  the  beautiful  effects,  in  the 
pictures  he  was  looking  over,  of  light  and  shade,  etc. 
He  had  rather  a  fancy  for  being  taken  for  something  of  an 
artist,  and  had  often  tried  to  sketch  his  own  head  from 
memory.  He  was  fond,  too,  of  tracing  likenesses  in  heads, 
in  pictures,  to  friends  around  him.  He  had  found  at  least 
six  Elizas,  and  four  Marias,  in  the  book  before  him,  that 
evening. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MR.  MURRAY  discoursed,  one  evening,  at  the  tea-table, 
upon  his  theories  of  giving  to  the  poor  charitable  institutions, 
etc.  He  had  not  allowed  Maria  and  Eliza  to  rest,  until  they 
had  discovered  the  history  and  the  true  circumstances  of  the 
poor  Italian  woman  who  had  come  to  Maria,  to  ask  of  her 
some  pieces  of  linen,  that  she  might  dress  the  broken  arm 
of  her  boy.  They  found  the  woman  in  great  trouble,  and 
did  all  they  could  to  help  her.  Mrs.  Spenser  sent  her  many 
things,  that  made  the  poor  boy  far  more  comfortable. 
Maria's  sewing  society  found  some  useful  articles  of  cloth 
ing  for  the  destitute  woman.  And  Maria  herself  was 
interested  in  the  appearance  of  the  woman's  home,  —  its 
great  neatness,  in  the  midst  of  its  poverty,  —  and  with  the 
sweet  tones  that  fell  from  the  Italian's  tongue.  She  tried 


IN   AMERICA.  Ill 

talking  Italian  with  her  new  protege,  and  began  to  feel  as 
if  she  might  allow  her  the  name  she  wished  to  deny  her,  a 
little  while  ago,  —  of  a  lady.  She  even  formed  a  vision, 
that  when  Arturo  should  be  well  enough  to  go  out,  and 
return  to  his  occupation,  she  should  propose  to  the  mother, 
that,  instead  of  devoting  all  her  hours  to  sewing,  she  should 
take  up  the  office  of  teaching  Italian,  —  the  Italian  she 
could  speak  so  fluently,  and  so  gracefully.  Maria  thought 
she  could  easily  find  a  number  of  her  young  friends  who 
would  join  her  in  taking  lessons  in  talking  Italian ;  and  that 
it  would  be  a  profitable  thing  for  both  parties. 

Mr.  Murray  was  willing  that  Maria  should  go  on  as  far 
as  she  pleased,  with  such  plans.  He  was  glad  to  have  her 
take  an  individual  interest  in  her  new  friend,  as  he  called 
the  Italian  woman.  He  said  that  societies  and  associations 
for  the  relief  of  the  poor  were  very  useful  in  their  way,  and 
as  long  as  there  was  so  much  poverty,  and  while  poverty 
increased  so  fast  as  it  did  among  us,  it  was  impossible  to 
do  without  them.  But  he  was  very  much  afraid  that  they 
tempted  people  to  let  their  charitable  deeds  rest  here.  Peo 
ple  were  in  the  habit  of  having  all  their  charity  done  for 
them,  as  it  were,  by  some  labor-saving  machine;  thus  giving 
merely  outward  benefits,  —  money,  food  or  clothing,  —  while 
they  lost  all  opportunity  of  giving,  —  and  receiving,  too, — 
words  and  looks  of  kindness.  Corporations  were  called 
"bodies  without  souls."  It  was  particularly  injurious,  then, 
to  leave  such  delicate  duties  as  those  of  charity  to  be 
treated  by  such  means  as  these,  merely.  If  men,  with  their 
powers  of  systematizing  and  their  fondness  of  simplifying 
labor,  established  such  things  as  corporations  for  benevolent 
purposes,  women  must  come  forward,  to  prevent  these  being 
the  only  ways  of  doing  good,  — to  add  the  soul.  They  must 


112  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

bring  their  own  presence,  their  power  of  sympathizing,  and 
add  some  spiritual  gifts  to  these  other  more  material  ones. 

"  It  is  very  dangerous,"  he  said,  "  to  get  into  the  habit  of 
1  visiting  the  poor,'  as  it  is  called,  in  a  mechanical  way,  —  of 
passing  among  one's  fellow-men  as  though  one  were  a 
mere  agent,  without  any  feeling,  —  any  feeling  of  one's 
own,  —  to  add  to  the  bundle  of  worldly  aids  one  leaves 
behind." 

"I  am  afraid  all  our  visiting  is  in  somewhat  of  that 
style,"  said  Eliza.  "  We  make  out  a  long  list  of  visits  to 
be  made,  and  are  quite  rejoiced  when  we  can  mark  off  so 
many  as  done,  whether  we  have  laid  our  eyes  on  any  of 
these,  our  dear  friends,  or  not." 

"  That  must  come  in,  as  a  part  of  the  sins  of  the  present 
age.  That,  we  must  do  our  best  to  reform,  if  we  can.  You 
have  a  long  list  of  such  acquaintances,  that  you  visit  in 
such  a  way.  At  the  same  time,  you  have  among  your 
friends  those  whom  you  really  wish  to  see.  When  they 
are  sick,  you  go  to  comfort  them ;  if  they  are  particularly 
happy,  you  go  to  rejoice  with  them.  Now,  we  ought  to 
enlarge  the  number  of  these,  —  to  introduce  among  them 
some  of  these  '  objects  of  charity,'  as  we  call  them." 

"  You  spoke,"  said  Eliza,  "  of  visiting  such  as  a  '  mere 
agent.'  Mrs.  Freelove,  who  was  here  the  other  day,  spoke 
of  herself  as  a  '  mere  agent ; '  but  it  was  in  a  different  way. 
She  is  a  person  who  really  does  a  great  deal  of  good.  She 
is  very  charitable ;  and  spends  all  her  time  in  visiting  the 
poor.  Somebody  was  praising  her  for  it,  and  she  spoke  of 
herself  very  humbly.  She  said  that  she  considered  herself 
a  mere  agent;  that  she  had  means  given  her  by  Providence, 
and  it  was  her  business  to  see  how  they  were  bestowed." 

"  That  may  be  a  very  true  feeling,  and  it  may  be  carried 
to  an  extreme.  There  is  great  danger  in  looking  upon  our- 


IN   AMERICA.  113 

selves  in  the  mere  character  of  giver,  since  we  are  actually 
receiving  far  more  than  we  give.  You  go  to  meet  a  few  of 
your  friends,  of  an  evening,  under  the  idea  of  receiving 
pleasure,  and  go  where  you  will  be  sure  to  find  the  most  of 
it.  It  would  become  quite  a  burden  to  you,  if  you  stopped 
to  calculate,  every  time,  how  much  you  were  expected  to 
bestow,  in  return  for  such  pleasure ;  whether  the  duet  you 
would  sing  with  Maria  would  not  outweigh  Miss  Pearson's 
sonata,  and  if  it  were  quite  worth  while  to  look  your  pretti 
est,  when  the  few  people  you  are  going  to  meet  are  not 
among  the  Graces.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  give ;  but  we 
must  also  learn  the  art  of  receiving.  We  must  be  meek 
of  heart,  and  poor  in  spirit.  Even  if,  in  giving  of  our 
abundance,  what  with  genius,  and  talent,  and  riches,  we 
seem  to  be  giving  far  more  than  we  are  receiving,  let  us 
take  care  how  we  put  on  the  self-complaisant  garment  of  a 
benefactor,  —  since  there  is  one  Being  to  whom  we  owe  all, 
from  whom  we  must,  of  necessity,  receive.  And  the  best 
way  to  learn  how  to  be  grateful  to  the  Supreme  Being,  is  to 
put  on  humility,  and  learn  how  to  take  and  receive  from 
those  we  consider  below  us,  in  God's  and  the  world's  gifts.  — 
Maria,  don't  look  tired ;  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  sermon. 
But  these  white-looking  hot  rolls  remind  me  of  an  illustra 
tion." 

"  One  might  have  hoped,"  said  Maria,  "  they  would  make 
you  forget  it ;  but  I  am  willing  to  hear." 

"  We  are  well  pleased  that  machinery  furnished  us  the 
white  flour,  and  that  steamboats  and  railroads  brought  it  to 
our  homes ;  but  we  prefer  to  select  particular  hands  to  make 
it  into  these  rolls ;  and,  what  is  more,  reserve  the  particular 
luxury  to  our  own  selves  of  placing  the  yellow  butter  within 
these  same  rolls'  smoking  sides.  So  it  does  very  well  to 
leave  to  the  machinery  of  institutions  the  labor  of  serving 


114  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

the  animal  wants  of  those,  not  so  highly  favored  in  their  out 
ward  life  as  ourselves,  while  we  add  directly  from  our  own 
hearts,  all  the  delicate,  sentimental  —  ah,  well,  Eliza,  do  you 
understand  me  ? " 

"  0,  Mr.  Murray,"  said  Agnes,  "  you  have  had  such  a 
long  talk!  Do  play  with  us!  Lizzie  wants  you  to  play 
« What  is  my  thought  like  ? ' " 

"  Agnes !  "  said  Maria,  "  do  you  know,  if  you  do  nothing 
but  play,  you  will  never  have  any  thoughts  when  you  grow 
up?" 

"  But,  Cousin  Eliza,"  persisted  Agnes,  "  you  will  have  a 
thought.  And  here  is  Mr.  Hubert  Spenser,  —  he  will  play, 
too." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  said  Eliza.  "  I  have  a  thought ;  you  can 
easily  guess  what  it  is." 

Mrs  Spenser  thought  it  was  like  a  hissing  urn.  Hubert 
thought  it  was  like  the  weather.  Each  one  guessed  what 
Eliza's  thought  might  be.  Eliza  then  told  what  her  thought 
was.  It  was  Charity. 

"Why  is  charity  like  the  weather?"  asked  Eliza,  of 
Hubert. 

"  Because  when  it  reigns  most,  we  have  the  best  crops," 
he  replied. 

"  Ah,  mother,  can  you  give  as  good  a  reason  why  it  is 
like  a  hissing  urn?  " 

"Because,"  again  suggested  Hubert,  "it  draws  up  your 
ckair-at-tea" 

Agnes  declared  this  was  too  bad;  and  Mrs.  Spenser  gave 
for  an  answer  that  "it  warmed  the  heart." 

"Now,  Mr.  Murray,  you  said  it  was  like  the  toast-rack; 
what  is  the  reason?" 

"  Because  it  feeds  the  starving,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  break 
ing  off  a  bit  of  crust. 


IN   AMERICA.  115 

"I  said,"  said  Maria,  "it  was  like  this  morning  cap  that 
I  must  finish  off  for  to-morrow.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Murray, 
you  would  give  me  for  an  answer,  that  it  will  cover  a  mul 
titude  of  sins." 

"I  would  have  been  more  gallant,  and  have  said  that  it 
is  especially  becoming  to  you." 

"And,  Lizzie,  you  said  Cousin  Eliza's  thought  was  like 
Gertrude ;  why  is  it  like  Gertrude  ? " 

"  Because  she  is  one  of  three  sisters ;  and  she  is  the 
greatest  of  the  three." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Agnes;  "but  I  shall  never  think  of 
an  answer.  Why  is  charity  like  the  man  in  the  moon?" 

"Because,"  said  Hubert,  "he  came  down  too  soon  —  " 

"  Because,"  said  Maria,  "  it  is  very  visionary  —  " 

"No;  but,  Mr.  Murray,  do  give  me  a  good  answer." 

"  Agnes,  I  am  so  little  acquainted  with  the  man  in  the 
moon !  Sometime,  when  we  know  more  about  him,  I  will 
tell  you." 

"  Won't  you  tell  us  now  about  the  people  that  live  in  the 
moon?"  asked  Lizzie. 

"Let  us  play  some  more !"  said  Agnes;  "  only  don't  let 
us  have  such  serious  words  as  charity,  —  it  makes  you  all 
talk  so." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"  MARGARET  PERCIVAL  looks  more  pale  and  delicate  than 
I  had  imagined,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  she  has  a  frail  air,  that 
makes  one  wish  to  do  something  to  support  her.  She  is  not 
at  all  what  I  imagined  her.  For  a  person  who  has  thought 
and  done  so  much,  she  looks  very  slight  and  fragile." 


116  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  To-night,  she  must  be  very  tired.  She  has  had  so  wea 
risome  a  journey  to-day,  after  so  long  a  voyage,  too  !  It  is 
no  wonder  she  looks  pale  and  delicate,  after  such  trials  as 
she  must  have  been  through,  both  in  body  and  mind." 

"  How  thrilling  her  account  of  that  fearful  storm  was  !  " 

"  It  must  have  been  fearful,  indeed  !  And  especially  to 
her,  who  seemed  to  be  almost  alone,  with  so  many  friends 
left  behind.  I  was  speaking  of  it  with  her,  as  we  stood 
together  in  the  window,  in  the  evening.  And,  Gertrude,  she 
said  to  me  then,  —  after  again  going  over  the  whole  story, 
with  the  deepest  feeling,  and  words  of  great  emotion,  —  she 
said  that,  in  that  night  of  great  doubt  and  agitation,  what 
she  felt  at  heart  was  absolute  peace,  in  comparison  with 
inward  struggles  she  had  been  through.  '  I  felt,  then,  so 
entirely,'  she  said, '  we  were  in  the  hands  of  God,  no  human 
hand  could  help  us,  and  I  believed  we  were  in  the  shelter 
of  his  arms.  At  other  times,  I  have  felt  doubt  and  mis 
trust  ;  but  then,  when  all  earthly  hope  and  earthly  support 
seemed  taken  away,  it  was  as  though  we  were  thrown  back 
upon  our  only  Help  and  Supporter.  And,  suddenly,  that 
pathway  through  the  valley  of  death,  that,  in  other  quieter 
hours,  has  seemed  so  dark  to  me,  seemed  almost  to  invite 
us  towards  it,  as  it  were  the  road  towards  home.' " 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  had  suffered  a  great  deal,"  said 
Gertrude. 

"  The  worst  is,  she  looks  as  if  she  had  not  done  suffering. 
I  fancy  she  came  out  here  with  some  great  hope,  —  with  an 
idea  that  in  some  way  a  great  duty  was  to  be  made  plain  to 
her.  And  the  light  has  not  come  yet.  How  depressing, 
too,  it  must  be,  to  arrive  in  the  midst  of  all  this  rain !  Not 
a  ray  of  sun  has  greeted  her  yet !  It  must  look  rather  dis 
mal  here,  among  the  mountains,  to  arrive  just  before  night 
fall,  in  such  a  drenching  rain.  The  curtains  of  the  wagon 


IN   AMERICA.  117 

had  to  be  drawn  so  closely,  she  could  not  have  even  a 
glimpse  of  the  dear,  beautiful  valley.  Our  ways,  too,  I 
suppose,  are  very  different  from  those  she  has  been  used 
to." 

"  The  warm  welcome,  and  bright,  cheerful  room,  must 
have  cheered  her  somewhat.  And,  indeed,  I  thought  she 
looked  less  sad,  as  we  bade  her  good-night.  You  stopped 
to  speak  to  your  father ;  —  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  Miss  Percival  seemed  somewhat  depressed,  all 
the  way  on  from  New  York.  Yet,  she  did  not  appear  unwill 
ing  to  talk,  and  had  spoken  to  him  of  her  plans.  She  is  very 
desirous  to  begin  to  do  something;  and  has  come  out  with  a 
desire  to  employ  herself  as  a  teacher.  She  wants  to  send 
for  her  younger  sisters.  My  father  was  anxious  she  should 
wait  a  while,  till  she  should  feel  more  at  home  here.  But 
she  begged  him  not  to  let  her  wait;  and  said  she  could 
not  live  unless  she  had  something  to  occupy  her,  heart  and 
soul.  She  spoke  sometimes  of  how  those  we  most  trusted 
sometimes  failed ;  and  said  she  feared  one  could  not  trust 
in  others,  but  only  in  one's  own  exertions." 

"  She  confessed  to  me,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  her 
surprise  at  seeing  a  piano  here.  She  said,  laughingly,  she 
had  fancied  we  should  be  destitute  of  such  marks  of  civil 
ization." 

"  She  played  prettily ;  and  yet,  it  seemed  to  me,  rather 
mechanically,  —  as  if  her  thoughts  were  somewhere  else. 
Perhaps  she  had  played  that  air  last  at  her  own  home." 

"  I  thought  she  looked  a  little  surprised  at  some  of  Mr. 
Newstead's  remarks.  He  comes  out  sometimes  so  bluntly!" 

"  I  think  he  might  have  restrained  himself  from  talking 
quite  so  plainly  about  England;  at  least,  to  an  English 
woman.  And  when  she  looked  so  tired,  too ;  and,  I  am 
sure,  had  not  to-night  the  strength  to  defend  herself." 


118  MARGARET     PERCTVAL 

"  You  were  out  of  the  room  when  Mr.  Newstead  broke 
out  about  the  cars  of  Juggernaut." 

"  Yes ;  I  did  not  hear  that." 

"  Your  father  was  talking  about  railways  in  England,  and 
asked  Margaret  Percival  some  question.  She  answered,  as  I 
thought,  quite  meekly  ;  but  Mr.  Newstead  must  have  fancied 
it  was  boastfully  said,  for  he  began  to  talk  about  a  *  down 
trodden  people,'  and  the  '  cars  of  Juggernaut;'  and  said  he  had 
rather  be  on  a  camel,  alone  in  the  desert  of  Arabia,  than  be 
shut  up  in  a  first-class  or  second-class  car,  with  a  John  Bull 
aristocracy.  He  ran  on,  in  the  same  strain,  a  long  time ;  and 
Miss  Percival  looked  at  him  a  little  as  though  she  thought 
he  was  crazy.  At  last,  when  your  father  gave  him  rather  a 
glance  of  surprise,  he  softened  off  a  little,  and  went  on  to 
say  how  the  only  way  to  travel  was  on  foot,  and  so  on. 
Your  father  spoke  of  Bayard  Taylor ;  and  it  appeared  Miss 
Percival  had  been  interested  in  his  book." 

"  I  came  in  just  as  Mr.  Newstead  was  giving  a  description 
of  his  going  up  Mount  Katahdin." 

"  Yes ;  that  was  one  of  his  pedestrian  excursions." 

"  His  account  of  it  was  quite  inspiring.  It  reminded  me 
of  that  enthusiastic  account  Agassiz  gave  of  his  ascent  of 
the  Jungfrau.  It  was  like  that,  because  Mr.  Newstead 
described  it  so  vividly,  one  could,  in  a  measure,  realize  all 
the  hardihood  and  the  enthusiasm  of  such  an  expedition.  I 
like  to  have  Mr.  Newstead  get  upon  such  subjects.  He  is 
at  home  there." 

"  Fortunately,  his  animation  woke  up  poor  Uncle  Andrew. 
I  had  been  sitting  by  Uncle  Andrew,  and  I  had  not  been 
very  entertaining.  A  part  of  the  time,  I  had  been  listening 
to  the  conversation ;  and  a  part  of  the  time,  I  was  watching 
Margaret  Percival's  face,  as  it  was  turned,  in  profile,  partly 
away  from  me.  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  different  we 


IN   AMERICA.  119 

three  girls  all  were ;  and  that  two  of  us,  at  least,  —  Margaret 
Percival  and  I, —  were,  Anna,  at  the  doubting  period  of  our 
lives.  And  I  wondered  how  it  was  going  to  turn  out  for  all 
of  us." 

"  My  course,  Gertrude,  is  not  anymore  certain.  I  always 
have  a  sort  of  dread,  lest  sometime  this  happy  home  of  ours 
will  be  changed  for  some  other.  I  know  that  my  father  does 
not  feel  settled  in  his  position  here.  I  don't  like  to  think  of 
it ;  I  believe  it  is  wrong  to  be  looking  forward,  with  dread, 
towards  a  change,  when,  perhaps,  no  change  will  come. 
My  father  has  frequently  been  urged  to  leave  here.  Who 
knows  but  some  day  he  will  be  called  to  oversee  certain 
factories  in  Patagonia?  My  'mission'  will  be,  perhaps, 
to  teach  the  ignorant  natives ;  while  you,  Gertrude,  and 
Margaret  Percival,  will  be  established  here,  in  quiet 
homes." 

"  You  would  be  in  your  place  anywhere  that  I  know ;  — 
wherever  your  mission  is,  I  have  no  fear  but  you  will  reap 
a  harvest  somewhere." 

"  We  must  not  talk  about  reaping,  yet,  Gertrude.  Our 
autumn  harvest-time  has  not  come  yet.  Nor  is  all  our  seed 
sown.  We  consider  ourselves  still  in  the  spring-time,  as 
regards  our  life ;  and  we  have  this  sign  of  it.  It  is  in  this 
very  weariness  itself  of  which  we  complain ;  this  longing 
for  something  to  come,  and  this  dissatisfaction.  You  re 
member,  on  the  early  spring  days,  how  we  rejoice  in  their 
promises,  and  begin  the  day  with  most  spirited,  hopeful 
plans.  The  air  has  a  true,  joyous  spring  feeling ;  and  we 
are  buoyed  up,  and  fancy  ourselves  equal  to  any  effort.  But, 
as  the  day  goes  on,  there  comes  a  cold  wind,  and  it  nips 
all  our  warm  hopes.  Instead  of  our  strength  that  would 
lead  us  to  any  exertion,  there  comes  a  languor.  We  begin 
to  think  the  summer,  we  thought  so  near,  is  never  coming ; 


120  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

and  our  heart  dies  within  us,  and  our  hopes  give  way. 
Meanwhile,  there  is  a  little  twitter  of  spring  birds,  —  the 
buds  are  slowly  swelling,  —  little  tender  shoots  are  quietly 
throwing  off  their  dark,  heavy  covering  of  damp  leaves,  — 
our  cloud  of  mistrust  and  dejection  hides  from  us  how  all 
creation  has  begun  already  to  put  on  its  new  life.  All  these 
outward  cold  winds  of  discouragement  we  must  pay  no 
attention  to.  We  must  not  hope  to  see  the  growth,  nor 
look  forward  so  anxiously  to  the  reaping." 

"  It  would  be  very  hard  for  you  to  leave  this  place,  Anna, 
and  to  think  of  you  in  another  home.  And  how  very  hard 
it  must  have  been  for  you  to  live  away  from  your  own 
home!" 

"  Yes,  twice  I  have  been  away  from  home  ;  at  one  time, 
for  nearly  a  year.  At  first,  when  I  went  to  school.  After 
wards,  when  I  taught,  myself.  And  this  last  time  was  the 
saddest;  because  then  I  had  all  the  weight  of  responsibility. 
And  yet,  I  look  back  upon  it  as  quite  a  happy  period.  I 
had  no  time  for  doubts  and  fears.  Each  day  was  sufficient 
for  itself,  and  brought  its  own  duties.  I  was  doing  what  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  was  right,  and  I  was  not  troubled 
about  thinking  of  the  consequences.  Then  I  had  a  great 
many  amusing  experiences,  which  I  shall  never  be  sorry  to 
look  back  upon.  I  believe  Margaret  Percival  wants  to  be  a 
governess  in  a  family ;  but  I  think  she  would  find  such  a 
school  as  I  had  the  partial  care  of,  more  interesting,  and 
more  exciting." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Mrs.  Winterton  will  want  to  entice  her 
on  to  the  south.  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  her  go  away 
from  here." 

"  And  now,  Gertrude,  as  you  lay  your  head  upon  the  pil 
low,  I  will  read  to  you.  May  the  words  give  us  both  the 
strength  we  need  !  " 


IN    AMERICA.  121 

"  Thou  art  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things  ;  but 
one  thing  is  needful." 

Anna  read  on  :  — 

"  We  think  we  have  many  important  concerns  ;  but  we 
have  really  but  one.  If  that  is  attended  to,  all  others  will 
be  done  ;  if  that  is  wanting,  all  the  rest,  however  successful 
they  may  seem  to  be,  will  go  to  ruin.  Why,  then,  should 
we  divide  our  hearts  and  our  occupations  ?  O,  thou  sole 
business  of  life,  henceforth  thou  shalt  have  my  undivided 
attention  !  Cheered  by  the  presence  of  God,  I  will  do  at 
the  moment,  without  anxiety,  according  to  the  strength 
which  he  shall  give  me,  the  work  that  his  Providence  assigns 
me.  I  will  leave  the  rest ;  it  is  not  my  affair. 

"  '  Father,  I  have  finished  the  work  which  thou  gavest 
me  to  do.'  Each  one  of  us  must  be  ready  to  say  this,  in  the 
day  in  which  we  must  render  an  account.  I  ought  to  con 
sider  the  duty  to  which  I  am  called,  each  day,  as  the  work 
that  God  has  given  me  to  do ;  and  to  apply  myself  to  it  in 
a  manner  worthy  of  his  glory,  —  that  is  to  say,  with  exact 
ness,  and  in  peace.  I  must  neglect  nothing ;  I  must  be 
violent  about  nothing ;  for,  it  is  dangerous  either  to  perform 
the  works  of  God  with  negligence,  or  to  appropriate  them  to 
ourselves  by  self-love  and  false  zeal.  In  that  case,  we  act 
from  our  own  individual  feeling ;  and  we  do  the  work  ill,  for 
we  get  fretted  and  excited,  and  think  only  of  success.  The 
glory  of  God  is  the  pretext  that  covers  this  illusion.  Self- 
love,  under  the  disguise  of  zeal,  complains,  and  thinks  itself 
injured,  if  it  does  not  succeed.  Almighty  God  !  grant  me 
thy  grace  to  be  faithful  in  action,  and  not  anxious  about  suc 
cess  !  My  only  concern  is  to  do  thy  will,  and  to  lose  myself 
in  thee,  when  engaged  in  duty.  It  is  for  thee  to  give  to  my 
weak  efforts  such  fruits  as  thou  seest  fit ;  none,  if  such  be 
thy  pleasure." 

11 


122  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

MARGARET  PERCIVAL  had  been  a  day  at  Anna's  home. 
She  had  been  there  long  enough  to  begin  to  feel  the  influ 
ence  of  the  kindly  cordiality  that  pervaded  the  house.  The 
two  girls  were  now  "Anna"  and  "Gertrude"  to  her.  Oc 
casionally  a  fit  of  formality  would  steal  back  again,  but  it 
was  easily  laughed  off. 

Mr.  Wilkie,  at  an  early  hour,  set  forth  for  Fairmeadow, 
to  meet  some  gentlemen  on  business.  He  expected  at  the 
same  time  to  make  some  inquiries  about  the  academy  in  the 
next  town,  —  Wilton.  He  had  heard  that  it  was  possible 
there  might  be  a  teacher  wanted  in  the  Wilton  Academy. 
Anna  proposed  to  Margaret  and  Gertrude  that  they  should 
walk  over  to  Fairmeadow,  and  they  could  return  with  her 
father,  in  his  roomy  wagon. 

"  Mr.  Newstead  went  with  my  father ;  but  he  announced 
to  me,  last  night,  his  intention  of  hunting  up  an  old  class 
mate  of  his  in  Wilton,  and  said  that  he  should  walk  home, 
and  appear  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

The  walk  was  a  delightful  one,  towards  the  village.  As 
it  wound  up  the  hill,  it  gave,  beautiful  glimpses  of  the  river 
and  mountains.  Margaret  was  charmed  with  the  glowing 
colors,  with  the  brilliancy  of  the  sky,  and  the  fresh  beauty 
of  the  scene. 

"  You  ought  to  have  been,  like  me,  a  prisoner  for  five 
weeks,  fully  to  appreciate  all  this  beauty,  and  all  this  free 
dom.  0,  how  I  longed  to  stand  again  upon  solid  ground ! 
All  this  seems  to  me  quite  like  a  dream,  that  I  should  be 
walking  quietly  by  your  side,  —  with  two  persons  whom  I 
have  never  heard  of  or  imagined  before.  The  strangest 


IN   AMERICA.  123 

thing  is,  that  it  does  not  seem  more  strange  to  me !  I  mean, 
that  the  sky,  the  rich  foliage,  the  mountain  range,  look  so 
much  like  home  to  me,  —  much  more  so  than  I  expected. 
And  your  faces  look  kindly  and  homelike  towards  me." 

"  It  is  only  within  three  months  that  I  saw  Anna's  face 
for  the  first  time,"  said  Gertrude,  "  and  yet  she  seems  now  to 
me  like  quite  an  old  friend.  And  so  it  will  be  with  you, 
Margaret.  It  will  not  be  long  before  you  will  have  found 
her,  as  I  have,  one  of  the  strongest,  dearest  friends  in.  the 
world." 

"  Perhaps,  Gertrude,  Margaret  may  not  be  as  hasty  in 
forming  one  of  these  eternal  friendships  as  you  and  I  were. 
We  had  your  sickness  to  bring  us  together.  That  made 
you  very  dependent,  and  drew  me  towards  you." 

"  Only  think,  Miss  Percival,  —  a  whole  year  Anna  and  I 
were  walking  through  the  streets  of  the  same  town,  without 
ever  meeting,  or  becoming  conscious  of  each  other ! " 

"  I  led  such  a  very  quiet  life  there ;  I  had  but  few  friends 
to  visit,  and  constant  occupation  for  my  days." 

"But  why  didn't  I  ever  meet  you  walking  round  the 
common?  Why  was  I  never  .attracted  by  your  quiet  air, 
and  your  thoughtful  eyes  ?  I  am  quite  impatient,  when  I 
think  of  the  loss  of  that  whole  year.  It  was  a  loss,  Anna. 
How  much  you  might  have  done  for  me,  to  settle  my  mind, 
to  help  me  on  !  Why  was  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  best  you  should  help  yourself,  Gertrude. 
Since  it  was  so,  we  must  believe  it  was  best." 

"Does  it  not  surprise  you,  Anna,  —  Miss  Wilkie,"  — 
said  Margaret,  "to  see  how,  indeed,  we  do  almost  seem 
dependent  on  circumstances  ?  It  almost  frightens  me  to  see 
how  some  circumstances,  that  seemed  very  inopportune, 
prove,  as  we  look  backward,  to  have  been  the  cause  of  some 
great  good  to  us.  We  tremble  to  see  on  what  a  precipice 


124  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

we  were  placed,  and  how  slender  was  our  support!  It  is 
rather  fearful,  that  one  can  be  so  much  the  child  of  circum 
stance." 

"  It  would  be  so,  if  we  did  not  believe  that  every  event 
was  ordered  for  the  best,  —  that  the  position  in  which  we 
have  been  placed  was  just  the  right  one,  either  at  one 
moment  to  call  out  our  energies,  or  else  to  let  them,  rest  till 
the  true  time  came  for  their  action." 

"  That  is  what  our  faith  would  teach  us ;  but  as  I  look 
back,  perhaps  weakly,  there  are  certain  experiences  of  my 
life,  which,  it  seems  to  me,  it  would  have  been  better  for  my 
soul  not  to  have  gone  through,  and  which  I  cannot  look  back 
upon  without  a  shudder." 

"O,  Margaret!  it  must,  indeed,  be  our  blindness,  that 
leads  us  to  look  upon  things  in  that  way.  For,  indeed, 
after  all,  it  is  not  that  these  circumstances  act  upon  us,  but 
we  who  should  use  them  as  instruments  for  good,  if  we  are 
only  strong  enough.  And  if  we  only  keep  our  courage  up, 
God  will  forgive  our  weakness." 

"  And  yet,  sometimes  things  wear  a  specious  air,  and  in 
our  earnestness  in  seeking  after  the  good,  we  may  seize 
upon  something  utterly  wrong,  —  utterly  false." 

"  We  are  very  blind,  and  walk  in  the  dark,  and  we  often 
stumble ;  but  we  cannot,  in  our  groping,  or  even  if  we  fall, 
go  where  God  is  not.  If  we  only  seek  him,  we  shall  find 
him ;  and  he  besets  us  behind  and  before.  In  looking  back, 
I  am  not  so  much  troubled  that  this  or  that  event  did  take 
place,  as  that,  out  of  such  means,  I  have  not  wrought  some 
thing  more  useful  and  good.  Everything  seems  to  have 
been  placed  so  kindly  for  me  — " 

"  What !  even  temptation  ?  " 

"  Most  kindly,  if  it  were  conquered.  I  can  almost  see 
how  my  soul  needed  such  a  struggle.  But  when  do  we 


IN   AMERICA.  125 

have  such  times  of  triumph  ?  If  we  have  yielded,  the 
remembrance  is  indeed  most  sorrowful.  My  sorrow  is  for 
my  own  weakness,  in  that  I  yielded  so  far,  and  so  easily. 
For  none  of  us  are  tempted  greater  than  we  can  bear.  I 
cannot  complain  that  the  temptation  was  placed  in  my  way. 
It  is  I  who  have  misused  a  great  opportunity.  Then, 
indeed,  how  heavy,  how  deep,  is  our  regret ! " 

"  It  is  what  we  ought  to  bear,  as  the  result  of  our  sin." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  that.  This  tendency  to  despond 
ency  is,  perhaps,  another  temptation  we  are  to  struggle 
with.  Certainly  it  restrains  our  energies,  —  makes  us  less 
hopeful,  less  faithful,  and  less  able  to  act  in  the  present.  1 
believe  a  great  deal  in  the  words,  '  Forget  the  steps  already 
trod.'" 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  Gertrude,  "  when  one  looks  round  upon 
such  a  vast  world,  —  when  one  reads,  for  instance,  one  of 
our  favorite  Nichol's  books,  of  how  the  stars  are  born,  —  it 
is  hard  to  see  how  such  little  ones  as  we  are  can  be  in  the 
care  of  a  special  Providence.  One  feels  almost  lost  in  such 
an  immensity  of  worlds." 

"  And  yet  these  ought  to  be  the  very  reasons  for  encour 
aging  us.  We  learn,  too,  how  some  little  cause,  —  the 
smallest  motion,  —  may  produce  an  effect  even  on  infinity. 
We  must  read  again,  with  Margaret,  '  The  Stars  and  the 
Earth.'  It  does  one  good  to  read  such  a  book  often.  It 
reminds  us  how  God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  —  how 
his  Omnipotence  can  work  what  we,  with  our  feeble  powers, 
can  in  no  way  imagine.  I  believe  that  if  it  were  not  best 
for  my  soul  to  have  been  subjected  to  just  such  influences 
as  in  this  body  it  has  been,  even  he  might  have  ordained  it 
differently  from  the  beginning.  It  seems  a  proud,  too  great 
a  thing  to  express,  almost ;  and  yet,  if  the  vibrations  of  a 
distant  planet,  so  far  off  that  here  we  can  never  hope  to  see 


126  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

it,  will  influence  the  motions  of  our  small  world,  why  can 
we  not  believe  that  the  influences  which  surround  each  one 
of  us  have  been  ordered  afar  off,  —  even  long  ago,  —  each 
one  for  our  good  ?  Do  let  us  learn  not  to  say  special  Provi 
dence,  but  rather  universal  Providence." 

"  I  will  rest  a  while  on  this  stone,  Anna,"  said  Gertrude ; 
"  and  we  can  look  down -the  village  street.  What  a  beauti 
ful  avenue  the  broadly  spreading  elms  form ;  and  how  beau 
tifully  the  mountain,  yonder,  closes  the  view ! " 

"  Do  you  see  that  bright  maple,  standing  out  from  the 
rest?  It  is  so  bright  and  various  in  its  colors,  it  would 
make  a  gorgeous  bouquet  of  itself." 

"How  came  you  here?"  said  a  voice  behind  them;  and 
Mr.  Harrod  appeared,  from  a  path  among  the  trees.  "You 
have  found  a  pleasant  resting-place." 

Mr.  Harrod  seated  himself  on  the  rock,  by  Anna's  side. 
"  The  village  street  does,  indeed,  form  a  beautiful  avenue 
from  here.  How  far  the  elms  extend  their  branches ;  and 
how  prettily  the  houses  are  nestled  in  behind  them !  I  do 
not  know  how  I  shall  ever  have  the  courage  to  leave  this 
place." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Anna,  "  that  each  one  of  those  houses 
has  a  history  for  you.  It  is  almost  so  with  me;  yet  there 
are  some  few  the  inside  of  whose  walls  I  have  never  seen." 

"  And  it  was  a  long  time,"  said  Mr.  Harrod,  "  before  I 
could  learn  the  history  of  each,  which  now  I  have  gained. 
They  wear  a  far  different  expression  from  what  they  wore 
at  the  time  when  I  saw  them  first.  With  us,  Miss  Percival, 
it  is  seldom  that  the  house  has  any  individuality.  Our  peo 
ple  are  of  such  a  moving  race,  that  they  do  not  linger  long 
enough  in  one  spot  to  throw  over  it  any  family  association. 
The  most  learned  physiognomist  in  houses  cannot  attempt 
to  judge,  from  the  outside  of  a  house,  the  ways  and  manners 


IN    AMERICA.  127 

of  those  that  dwell  within.  A  person  of  a  very  fine  taste 
sometimes  lives  in  an  exceedingly  ugly  house,  because  he 
did  not  build  it  himself,  and  had  no  alternative  offered  him ; 
and  he  chose  it  from  a  motive  of  internal  comfort  or  con 
venience." 

"  But,  Mr.  Harrod,"  said  Gertrude,  "  if  a  person  of  good 
taste  should  live  in  such  a  house,  he  might  cover  up  its 
outward  unsightliness  with  vines,  or  surround  it  with 
flowers,  to  distract  the  attention ;  or  hide  it  in  trees." 

"  One  sometimes  detects  the  hands  of  the  young  ladies 
within  the  house  in  that  way ;  a  pretty  flower-border,  or  a 
clambering  vine,  redeems  the  monotony  of  the  bare  walls. 
But  what  must  the  poor  maidens  do  with  their  flower-gar 
den,  if  the  master  of  the  house  has  business  elsewhere,  so 
that  he  cannot  keep  the  fences  in  repair  ?  or,  if  he  have  a 
passion  for  keeping  chickens,  what  will  become  of  their 
flower-seeds  ? 

"There  is  Miss  Percival  looking  at  that  pretty  brown 
cottage  among  the  pines.  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  far 
rather  claim  acquaintance  with  it  than  with  the  staring 
little  white  house  beyond  it." 

"  I  was,  indeed,  very  much  attracted  by  the  air  of  neat 
ness  about  it.  And  though  it  looks  so  small,  it  is  built  in 
extremely  pretty  taste." 

"  All  that  taste  belonged  to  the  former  owner  and  builder 
of  it.  Anna  could  tell  you  of  many  pleasant  associations 
that  still  hang  over  it  for  her.  That  was  when  Mr.  Lind 
say  and  his  family  occupied  it.  Then  the  beautiful  taste 
that  dictated  the  building  of  it,  —  that  left  the  little  grassy 
lawn  by  the  side  of  the  windows,  and  trained  that  brightly 
glowing  vine  round  the  pillars  of  its  portico,  —  that  same 
taste  was  breathing  inside  of  the  house  also.  This  I  never 
knew  from  my  own  observation.  When  I  came  here,  the 


128  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

present  family  occupied  it.  But  when  I  leave  the  doors 
now,  I  quicken  my  pace,  gladly  hastening  towards  its  little 
neighbor,  because  I  know  I  shall  receive  there  the  hearty 
welcome  I  have  just  found  wanting." 

"  But,  what  kind  of  people  live  in  the  brown  cottage 
now  ?  "  asked  Gertrude. 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  they  are  friends  of  yours ;  they 
asked  me  yesterday,  —  that  is,  the  daughter  asked  me,  —  if 
Miss  Ashton  were  not  at  church  Sunday  morning.  They 
are  friends  of  the  Spensers." 

"  O,  some  of  the  Spenser  set ;  I  am  answered,  Mr.  Har- 
rod ! " 

"  Miss  Ashton,  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  unjust  and  severe, 
when  I  only  wanted  to  give  a  point  to  my  argument.  It 
is  very  likely  the  fault  is  on  my  side,  and  that,  because  1 
could  not  waken  an  interest  in  myself,  I  have  taken  less 
pains  to  become  interested  in  them.  The  family  have  no 
fondness  for  Fairmeadow,  and  have  been  longing  for  Boston; 
and  will,  probably,  leave  soon." 

"  Let  them  go  ! "  said  Gertrude. 

"  My  friends  in  the  next  house  have  told  me  they  have 
found  their  neighbors  in  the  brown  cottage  inclined  to  be 
kind.  Miss  Nelly  Stevens  tells  me  that  Miss  Emily  has 
frequently  carried  her  her  choicest  rosebuds." 

"  Then  it  is  Miss  Nelly  that  lives  in  the  little  ugly  house  ?  " 

"  And  yet,  Mr.  Harrod,"  said  Anna,  "  as  one  passes  into 
it,  one  is  always  attracted  by  the  neatness  of  the  little  front 
door-yard;  there  are  no  rare  flowers  there,  but  there  is 
always  something  gay  and  pretty,  that  attracts,  as  one 
passes  it." 

"  The  little  garden  has  always  looked  perfectly  neatly. 
The  last  time  I  was  there,  Miss  Nelly  bemoaned  that  sister 


IN   AMERICA.  129 

Prudence  could  have  little  time  to  gather  in  the  seeds,  and 
clear  away  the  dead  branches." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  Anna,  "  we  will  drive  over,  some  day, 
and  help  Miss  Nelly  arrange  her  garden.  You  want  to 
go  and  see  her." 

Anna  told  Mr.  Harrod  that  they  were  to  meet  Mr.  Wilkie 
at  the  parsonage  house ;  and,  as  Gertrude  was  quite  rested, 
the  party  slowly  walked  down  the  avenue  of  elms,  till  they 
reached  Mr.  Harrod's  home.  The  house  wore  merely  a 
quiet,  comfortable  air;  but,  helping  to  prove  the  truth  of 
Mr.  Harrod's  words,  within  seemed  very  cheerful,  and 
unusually  inviting. 

Mr.  Harrod  led  the  way  into  his  study;  Mrs.  Harrod 
was  there,  with  one  of  her  children.  The  child  had  not 
been  well,  and  she  had  taken  it  to  the  study,  where  a  small 
fire  could  most  conveniently  be  made.  She  formed  a  pretty 
picture  there,  as  she  held  the  child  in  her  arms,  with  its 
halo  of  golden  hair  about  its  head.  Her  presence,  with  the 
child's,  cast  a  pleasant  influence  round  the  room,  which 
might  have  otherwise  seemed  too  formal,  with  its  rows  of 
books,  all  in  their  neatest  order. 

Anna  seated  herself  by  Mrs.  Harrod,  and  talked  with  her 
of  the  child,  and  then  of  some  village  matters  which  they 
had  to  discuss.  Gertrude,  after  admiring  a  beautiful  en 
graving  of  a  head  of  the  Madonna,  from  a  picture  of  Carlo 
Dolci's,  stopped  before  a  pretty  engraving  containing  a 
picture  of  Jerusalem.  This  Mr.  Harrod  made  more  life 
like  by  pointing  out  to  Gertrude  the  very  spot  he  had  him 
self  trod,  and  describing  to  her  the  three  beautiful  days  he 
had  passed  in  Jerusalem,  —  days  which,  he  said,  stood  out 
in  his  remembrance  as  a  glorious  picture,  whose  colors 
would  never  fade  nor  change.  He  spoke  so  enthusiastically 
of  the  influence  these  had  thrown  over  his  after  life,  —  they 


130  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

had  affected  so  much  all  the  action  of  his  thoughts,  they 
were  so  constantly  a  never-failing  source  and  awakener  to 
his  devotional  feelings,  —  that  Gertrude  was  reminded  of 
Mr.  Newstead.  She  spoke  of  him  to  Mr.  Harrod,  and  of 
his  enthusiasm  for  this  new  crusade  for  Jerusalem.  And 
Gertrude  and  Mr.  Harrod  were  soon  involved  in  an  Eastern 
atmosphere,  that  led  them  quite  to  forget  the  autumn  west 
ern  air,  that  made  the  sky  so  clear  and  pure,  and  had 
given  them,  in  part,  that  exhilaration  that  had  its  share  in 
the  interest  of  their  theme. 

Margaret,  meanwhile,  sat  in  a  deep  chair  in  the  window. 
It  had  never  been  her  habit  to  indulge  in  day-dreams.  She 
had  often  sat  in  deep  thought;  but  it  was  never  "lost"  in 
deep  thought.  Her  mind  had  a  definite  object  in  view,  — 
something  that  it  was  trying  to  square  out,  to  put  in  rule. 
But  since  she  had  been  in  America,  these  last  few  days, 
she  found  her  mind  often  wandering  in  reveries. 

It  has  been  said  that  in  travelling  we  often  feel  as  if  we 
were  in  a  dream ;  and  that  the  reason  for  this  is,  that  in 
dreams  our  thoughts  have  no  continuity,  but  are  constantly 
broken  off,  and  detached.  This  is  why,  when  we  move 
from  place  to  place,  and  new  objects  and  subjects  of  thought 
come  before  our  eyes,  we  say,  "  It  is  like  a  dream."  And 
so  it  had  been  with  Margaret.  Each  day  had  brought 
before  her  a  new  face,  a  new  idea,  and  each  far  different 
from  every  home  association.  At  times,  everything  seemed 
mingled  and  confused,  as  in  sleep.  She  saw  the  Grove 
again,  Henningsley,  and  these  old  familiar  places  were 
peopled  with  the  forms  of  the  new  friends  she  had  made. 
Her  eyes  rested  upon  Anna,  whose  face  was  smiling  and 
joyous,  and  whose  happy  laugh  echoed  that  of  the  child 
with  whom  she  was  playing.  And  then  Margaret  awoke 
from  her  dream,  and  felt  how  deeply  she  was  drawn  to  this 


IN   AMERICA.  131 

being,  of  whose  existence,  a  week  ago,  she  had  been  quite 
ignorant.  She  awoke,  to  ask  herself,  with  a  shudder,  if  she 
were  not  again  allowing  her  feelings  to  lead  her  away  from 
those  firm  principles  she  believed  were  now  deeply  rooted 
in  her  heart.  Wa£  there  danger  in  this  new  friendship  ? 
Was  she  yet  strong  enough  to  keep  her  own  position,  even 
if  her  heart  itself  should  be  led  astray?  Something 
seemed  to  stand  between  her  and  Anna,  —  a  warning  figure 
that  now  fully  awakened  her  to  herself. 

She  arose,  and  began  to  examine  the  books  upon  the 
shelves.  She  drove  away  from  her  mind  the  remembrance 
of  that  fine  library  whose  shelves  were  weighed  down  with 
those  books  which  she  had  often  appealed  to,  in  times  of 
doubt  and  mental  trouble,  and  seldom  in  vain.  It  was  with 
some  reluctance  that  she  forced  herself,  instead,  to  read  the 
titles  of  the  volumes  before  her.  She  fancied  she  should 
not  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  books  Mr.  Harrod  would  be 
likely  to  select.  She  read,  —  her  eye  passing  from  shelf  to 
shelf,  —  such  names  as  these  :  "  Self-Formation,"  "  Friends 
in  Council,"  "  Feltham's  Resolves,"  "  Pensees  de  Pascal," 
"  Liturgy  of  the  Greek  Church,"  "  Browne's  Religio  Me 
dici,"  "  Barclay's  Apology,"  "  Martineau's  Endeavors  after 
a  Christian  Life,"  "  The  History  of  the  Church."  —  Of  what 
church?  And  up  pressed  the  old  question,  she  believed 
she  had  long  ago  answered.  And  the  answer  came  now. 
It  spoke  of  a  glorious  structure,  firm,  immovable.  Within 
were  kneeling  the  faithful.  True,  devoted  hearts  were 
there, — priests  and  people,  —  and  all  striving  after  the  same 
end,  each  holding  the  cross  in  his  right  hand,  earnest,  eager 
for  the  faith.  This  church  was  wide,  and  its  walls  stretched 
far.  It  could  hold  within  it  the  vast  army  of  the  martyrs, 
the  pious  fathers,  the  meek  disciples.  It  enshrined  crowds 
of  sainted  women,  and  gentle  children;  —  it  was  the  Eng- 


132  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

lish  Church,  and  the  best  and  holiest  of  her  native  land 
took  shelter  within  its  walls.  Yes,  within ;  —  but  without, 
— could  she  see  them  stand  without, — Anna,  Gertrude,  Hes 
ter?  A  merry  laugh  caused  her  to  turn  to  the  group  behind 
her.  The  mother's  face  looked  radiant  with  joy,  as  she 
smiled  upon  her  child;  and  Anna,  as  she  held  a  flower 
towards  its  outstretched  hand,  recalled,  with  her  serene 
yet  joyous  expression,  the  mild  countenance  in  the  picture 
of  the  angel  Gabriel  who  bears  the  lily.  —  Without  the 
church  ?  Its  doors  were  opened  wide  ;  —  what  was  there 
kept  these  without  the  church  ? 

Mr.  Wilkie  was  at  the  door.  His  presence  broke  up  the 
arrangement  of  parties,  and  so  broke  up  Margaret's  reverie. 
He  called  Mr.  Harrod  aside,  for  a  few  minutes,  into  the 
next  room ;  and  while  they  conversed  there,  the  ladies  all 
talked  together,  and  laid  their  plans  for  meeting  again 
soon. 

Mr.  Wilkie  looked  into  the  room  again  only  for  a  mo 
ment.  "  Anna,  young  ladies,  we  must  make  haste.  Mrs. 
Harrod,  I  have  only  time  to  say  good-by;  Mrs.  Wilkie 
will  be  waiting  for  us.  So  good-day,  Master  Willie ;  take 
your  last  kiss,  Anna." 

And  to  Margaret,  as  he  lifted  her  into  his  carriage,  he 
said,  "  I  have  a  good  deal  to  tell  you,  Miss  Percival.  We 
must  drive  quickly  home  ;  but,  on  the  way,  I  can  tell  you 
what  I  have  been  doing  for  you." 

We  can  best  help  the  reader  to  Mr.  Wilkie's  narrative 
by  describing  ourselves  his  morning  at  Wilton. 


IN   AMERICA.  133 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MR.  NEWSTEAD  was  glad  to  make  his  visit  to  his  class 
mate  in  Wilton  an  excuse  for  this  drive  thither  with  Mr. 
Wilkie.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  go  through  a  long,  difficult 
confidence  with  another,  when  one  seat  of  one  carriage 
secures  you  freedom  from  interruption,  the  enlivenment 
of  motion,  and  fresh  air.  Half  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
friendship  or  confidence  are  removed,  wrhen  one  of  us  says 
to  another,  "  Come  and  ride  with  me." 

And  so,  they  very  soon  came  upon  Mr.  Newstead's  plan 
of  what,  he  said,  Mr.  Wilkie  might  call,  if  he  chose,  the 
New  Crusade.  Mr.  Wilkie  knew  that  his  young  friend  had 
something  which  he  wished  to  discuss  with  him.  He  knew 
Arthur  Newstead  well  enough  to  know  that  this  "  some 
thing  "  would  probably  be  wholly  out  of  the  common  course 
of  things,  —  that  it  would  either  be,  or  seem  to  be,  extrava 
gant. 

Probably,  however,  he  was  not  fully  prepared  for  the 
breadth  and  depth  of  Newstead's  statement. 

"  Frankly,"  said  the  young  man,  "  and  to  come  at  once  to 
the  point,  without  preface,  everything  that  I  read,  everything 
that  I  study,  carries  me  back  to  the  East.  I  teach  those 
boys  at  Chichester  Latin  or  Greek,  and  we  fall  back  in  our 
etymologies  on  old  Eastern  roots,  of  which  we  ought  to  know 
something.  My  religion,  —  every  man's  religion,  who  has 
any, — centres  there  in  its  history ;  and,  as  I  told  the  girls, 
while  you  were  away,  I  cannot  read  the  Bible  in  the  morn 
ing,  —  I  cannot  commune  at  night  with  the  living  Jesus,  — 
without  this  same  Judea  coming  home  to  mind,  memory, 
and  imagination.  All  history  again  shows  me  that  I  am 
12 


134  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

not  peculiar  here.  This  same  cause  has  led  thousands  of 
other  men  to  look  thus  eastward  also.  Thousands  ?  It  has 
led  nations  there  from  the  West ;  —  it  has  armed  crusades, 
for  centuries  ;  — and,  when  fighting  was  over,  it  has  arrayed 
unarmed  pilgrims,  for  centuries  more.  And  the  same  sacred 
enthusiasm  which  sent  Coeur  de  Lion  there,  centuries  ago, 
sent  Lieutenant  Lynch  and  poor  Dale  there,  since  you  arid 
I  remember.  The  same  enthusiasm,  by  the  way,  which 
brought  down  the  Saracens  from  the  East  to  it,  —  and,  for 
that  matter,  the  Queen  of  Sheba  from  the  South,  and  Abra 
ham,  in  his  day,  from  Charran ;  —  because  it  is,  and  God 
meant  it  to  be,  the  centre  of  his  world  ! " 

"  Very  well  ? "  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes  ;  the  centre  of  the  world.  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  look  at  the  whole  plan  commercially;  —  see  if  I  am 
enthusiastic  there." 

"  What  plan  ?  I  hear  no  plan  yet.  And,  surely,  I  have 
not  said  that  you  were  enthusiastic.  I  have  said  nothing." 

Newstead  collected  himself.  "  Is  not  Palestine  the 
world's  centre  ?  Centre  of  thought,  —  fountain  of  life,  — 
we  all  own  it  is.  But  God  does  nothing  by  halves ;  and, 
so  it  is  really  centre  of  geography,  and  ought  to  be  centre 
of  action.  Where,  before  there  were  ships  even,  where 
did  African,  and  Asiatic,  and  European  caravans  meet, 
cross  each  other,  and  exchange  commodities,  but  in  that  very 
region  which  connects  with  Asia  scarcely  more  than  Africa  ; 
and,  indeed,  as  the  fable  says,  gave  the  name  to  this  proud 
Europe,  which  flatters  herself  that  she  is  the  world's  light, 
life,  and  everything ;  —  poor,  younger  sister  that  she  is  ! 
Let  that  go.  As  soon  as  there  were  ships,  where  were  they  ? 
Where,  but  sailing  from  this  very  coast,  manned  by  these 
very  Philistines  or  Phoenicians,  whom  all  your  history  owns 
to  have  been  the  first  mariners  whom  the  world  knew,  and 


IN   AMERICA.  135 

the  best.  Ships,  too,  not  only  on  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  — 
Middle-of-the-world  Sea,  —  (well  named  so,  since  it  washed 
the  Judean  shores,)  — but  on  that  other  sea,  which  kissed  her 
southern  frontier, —  where  Solomon,  wise  in  that,  if  in 
nothing  else,  established  the  haven,  —  for  the  decay  of 
which,  this  day,  the  commerce  of  the  world,  and  its  enlarge 
ment,  its  civilization,  and  its  Christianization,  are  languish 
ing." 

"  How  ? "  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  really  surprised  now,  and 
more  interested. 

"  How !  —  thus  :  "  replied  Newstead.  "  God  was  pleased, 
in  his  wisdom,  to  make  those  three  continents ;  —  (each,  by 
the  way,  with  its  own  duty  in  his  world,  —  Asia,  land  of 
faith  ;  Europe,  land  of  action ;  Africa,  land  of  love ;)  —  he 
was  pleased,  I  say,  to  make  them  three,  that  they  might 
fulfil  their  various  parts;  and  yet,  he  was  pleased  so  to 
unite  them,  that  that  first  commerce  of  long  caravans,  desert 
ships,  should  be  possible, — that  the  Asiatic  Joseph  might 
pass  down  into  Egypt,  —  and  the  European  sons  of  Japhet 
dwell  in  the  tents  of  Shem.  Therefore,  these  continents 
are  united.  '  The  three  are  made  one  '  by  those  isthmuses 
and  projecting  capes  which  stretch  from  each  to  each.  Still, 
the  same  Providence  has  left,  — passing  between  and  through 
these  all,  —  that  amazing  system  of  water  communication, 
of  the  Black  Sea,  the  Archipelago,  the  Red  Sea,  and  the 
rest ;  so  that,  not  only  the  land  caravan,  but  the  fleets  of 
ocean,  might  have  every  facility  for  binding  together,  — for 
making  one,  — all  the  nations  of  the  world." 

"  Yes  ;  I  see  your  drift." 

"  You  see,  of  course,  that,  of  that  whole  system,  which 
man's  best  study  has  not  yet  developed  fully,  the  Red  Sea, 
running  up  almost  to  the  Mediterranean,  —  only  kept  from 
uniting  to  it,  that  the  land  marches  need  not  be  broken,  — 


136  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

(that  Benjamin  and  his  brothers  may  go  seek  Joseph,  and 
Moses  may  lead  Israel  up  to  Palestine,)  —  you  see,  I 
say,  that  the  Red  Sea  is  the  key  of  the  whole  !  And  if 
one  part  of  God's  handiwork  were  more  important  than 
another,  we  should  say  it  was  the  most  important  line  of 
movement  of  the  whole." 

"  Yes ;  I  understand  you." 

"  Solomon  saw  this,  —  established  his  navy  at  its  north 
eastern  point.  The  Crusaders  saw  it,  even  in  their  short 
sightedness.  It  is  left,  indeed,  to  Europe, — proud,  self- 
conceited  Europe, — to  leave  its  broad,  God-commissioned 
bosom  for  centuries,  —  to  neglect  its  facilities,  —  and  to 
creep,  lazily,  months  at  a  time,  through  distant  seas,  while 
the  arsenals  and  docks  of  Solomon  are  crumbling  away  and 
forgotten.  Wise  Europe  !  Learned  Europe  !  Nineteenth 
century,  indeed ! " 

"  The  nineteenth  century  carries  its  mail  through  that 
very  sea." 

"  True.  Let  me  give  it  its  due.  Once  a  month,  the  pre 
cocious  nineteenth  century  sends  one  steamer  down,  and  one 
up,  a  sea  which  was  white  with  Solomon's  canvas,  and 
fairly  boiled  beneath  the  strokes  of  his  oarsmen  !  And  then, 
the  advanced  nineteenth  century  congratulates  itself  on  its 
tact,  and  enterprise,  and  skill !  But,  I  forget  myself.  You 
.  are  tired  of  this.  Let  this  very  suggestion  of  yours  be  my 
text  now,  and  I  will  not  ramble  any  longer. 

"  The  overland  mail  was  a  plan  of  Mehemet  Ali's.  It 
brings  grist  to  his  mill.  Asiatic  as  he  was,  he  had  the  wit 
(of  course)  to  hood-wink  Europe  enough  to  let  it  go  there 
for  a  dozen  years.  But  it  is  not  the  right  channel.  You 
know  it  is  not.  The  science  of  Europe  knows  it.  The 
port  of  Alexandria  is  out  of  the  way.  The  navigation  of 
the  Nile  is  a  nuisance.  Crossing  the  desert  in  omnibuses, 


IN   AMERICA.  1 

is  as  stupid  as  riding  round  the  world  in  a  hack.  And  then, 
when  you  have  come  to  the  Red  Sea,  you  have  come  to  the 
wrong  branch  of  it,  after  all.  Solomon  was  wise  enough  to 
have  found  the  right  branch.  His  navies  sailed  from  the 
north-eastern  head  of  it.  He  let  the  north-western  alone. 
I  say  what  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  all  this." 

"  Then  you  must  see,  that,  even  commercially,  the  great 
eastern  route,  as  it  is  laid  out  by  the  very  formation  of  the 
world,  is,  up  the  Mediterranean  as  far  as  you  can  go,  —  to 
Jaffa,  say,  or  one  of  those  sea-ports ;  —  thence,  with  your 
railroad  trains,  direct  to  the  Dead  Sea,  —  by  Jerusalem,  of 
course  ;  —  then,  down  that  valley  of  the  Dead  Sea.  Wilkie, 
I  speak  reverently,  when  I  say  that  the  finger  of  God  has 
drawn  the  course  for  you  to  follow ;  and  you  know  yourself 
that  God's  own  people,  in  their  highest  prosperity,  followed 
that  course  with  their  caravans  of  eastern  treasure ;  and  that 
it  was  there,  on 'their  neutral  soil,  that  Asia  kissed  Europe 
and  Africa.  Why,  I  will  say  nothing  more  of  this  route 
than  that  it  is  not  a  hair's  breadth  longer  than  the  Mussul 
man's,  through  Egypt.  And,  by  delivering  yourself  from 
the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and  going  through  the  land  of  milk 
and  honey,  you  gain  good  harbors,  instead  of  poor  ones ;  a 
country  made  to  your  hand,  instead  of  a  nation  c  peeled  and 
scattered.' 

"I   marked  this   out,  in   your   study,  yesterday,  in  T 
Jenks's  atlas,  and  in  Laborde.     The  maps  lie  open  on  you 
table." 

"  Then,  the  plan,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  "is  the  opening  of  a 
new  line  of  railroad  communication  ?  " 

"The  plan," said  Newstead,more  seriously,  "is  to  establish 
Palestine  as  the  centre  of  the  world's  action,  as  it  is  now  the 
centre  of  the  world's  thought  and  prayer.  As  a  beginning 


138  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

of  that  plan,  —  yes,  —  let  the  enginery  of  our  time  be  estab 
lished  there.  Let  the  beginning  be  made,  if  you  choose,  by 
establishing  there  this  line  of  commercial  movement,  which 
the  nations  wait  for  earnestly,  that  they  may  be  bound 
together,  —  to  which,  your  Panama,  and  Tehuantepec,  are 
nothing." 

"  How  ?  "  said  monosyllabic  Mr.  Wilkie. 

"  Wilkie,  you  do  not  laugh  at  me,  —  I  thank  you  for  that. 
When  one  has  sketched  out  such  a  necessity,  it  seems 
almost  trivial  for  him  alone  to  step  into  the  breach. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  how  to  begin.  Let  me,  —  yes,  let 
me,  for  I  am  young,  strong,  and  full  of  faith,  —  let  me  go  to 
Jerusalem,  and  establish  there  my  home." 

He  paused  a  minute ;  and  they  both  felt  the  throb  which 
must  come,  when  the  idea  of  home  is  connected  with  that 
of  the  Holy  Solyma,  the  holy  city  of  peace. 

"  Let  me  arrange,  —  let  me  invest,  —  let  me  so  enter  into 
commercial  and  friendly  relations,  as  to  open  easy  access  to 
Jerusalem,  and  easy  stay  there,  to  these  myriads  of  men  and 
women,  who  would  so  gladly  seek  it,  but  that  it  is  now  a 
barbarous  journey  thither.  Let  me  bring  there  some  of  the 
facilities  of  modern  civilization.  Let  me  show  the  western 
world  from  there,  that  that  point,  at  least,  is  easily  gained, 
by  the  curious,  by  the  faithful. 

"  That,  for  a  beginning.  I  will  invest  my  property,  —  1 
wish  it  were  millions  where  it  is  thousands,  —  in  the  enter 
prises  which  this  beginning  may  require.  Surely,  I  shall 
draw  around  me  there  men  of  life,  hope,  faith,  and  enter 
prise.  I  care  not  how  various,  so  they  are  only  men  alive. 
Let  us,  from  that  centre,  work  eastward,  southward,  as  well 
as  westward.  We  will  explore  the  forgotten  region,  where 
Solomon's  caravans  poured  up  from  Ezion  Geber.  We  will 
conciliate  the  Arab  tribes.  We  will  establish  friendly  rela- 


IN   AMERICA.  139 

tions  on  the  Gulf  of  Akaba.  We  will  acquaint  ourselves 
with  the  country  ;  and  gradually  so  survey  it,  that  we  can 
safely  interest  governments,  and  men  of  capital,  in  this 
project  we  have  in  view,  of  restoring  the  old  God-appointed 
system  of  circulation  for  the  commerce  of  the  world,  — 
there,  in  its  very  heart,  where  the  falling  away  of  his  own 
people,  and  afterwards  the  conquests  of  Islam,  have  per 
mitted  it  to  stop,  dead  !  " 

"  A  crusade,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  "  with  the  machinery  of 
the  nineteenth  century  !  " 

"  Thank  you.     Yes,"  he  replied. 

And,  encouraged  by  Mr.  Wilkie's  kind  sympathy,  he 
went  on,  at  more  length  than  we  can  follow,  to  open  detail 
after  detail  of  what  he  called  his  plan.  In  some  points  it 
was  clearly  enough  finished,  and  accurate  in  all  its  parts. 
Other  features  seemed  to  be  occurring  to  him,  as  he  talked, 
wild,  visionary,  and  free  from  form,  as  night-dreams.  But 
Mr.  Wilkie  could  see  how  far  his  vision  had  possession  of 
him.  He  must  have  given  to  it  thought,  time,  and  study. 
It  was  wrought  in  with  his  devotional  feelings.  It  had  been 
a  part  of  his  intellectual  research. 

So  that  Mr.  Wilkie  was  not  surprised  when  his  young 
friend  told  him  for  what  purposes  he  needed  advice.  He 
had  resolved  to  go  to  Jerusalem,  for  the  purpose,  and  with 
the  view,  he  had  described.  He  would  go  there  to  live 
there.  There  need  be  no  attempt  made  to  dissuade  him 
from  that  purpose.  And  he  would  not  attempt  influence 
merely  by  writing  thence,  or  by  talking  there.  He  would 
seek  the  wider  influence,  the  more  commanding  stand,  of 
commercial  position.  He  would  be  there  the  hospitable 
entertainer  of  the  Christians  of  the  west  who  resorted  there. 
He  would  facilitate  their  passage  to  and  fro.  Perhaps,  irj 
time,  he  could  gain  some  official  positiont  here.  Our  Gov- 


140  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

ernment  might  appoint  him  its  consul  in  the  Holy  City. 
He  had  wit  to  see,  he  said,  —  and  Mr.  Wilkie  concurred 
with  him,  —  that  Jerusalem,  even  now,  is  more  truly  under 
Frank  rule  than  under  that  of  Islam ;  —  that  the  nominal 
authorities  of  the  place  dare  not  interfere  with  the  wishes 
of  any  European  power;  —  and  he  said,  that  this  nominal 
sovereignty  of  a  powerless  government,  held  in  awe  by  the 
oversight  of  all  Christendom,  was  a  condition  as  favorable 
for  his  great  enterprise  as  any  he  could  conceive  of.  "  We 
shall  gain  a  truer  foot-hold  there  than  ever  had  Godfrey  of 
Boulogne." 

He  had  resolved  to  go.  He  wanted  to  consult  Mr.  Wil 
kie  only  about  changing  the  investment  of  his  property,  that, 
from  time  to  time,  he  might  draw  it  from  America  at  will, 
and  use  it  in  such  enterprises  as  should  open  themselves 
before  him  in  the  East.  The  gentlemen  had,  however, 
hardly  subsided  into  a  financial  conversation,  when  they 
arrived  at  Wilton,  and  parted,  for  the  time,  for  their  several 
engagements. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

MR.  WILKIE  found  that  there  was  a  vacancy  to  be  filled 
in  the  staff  of  the  Wilton  Academy. 

At  first  sight,  however,  the  prospect  of  securing  for  Miss 
Percival  the  position  of  "  assistant  principal,"  as,  in  the  bar 
barous  patois  of  the  catalogue,  it  was  called,  did  not  seem 
very  encouraging.  Fourteen  young  ladies  were  already  on 
the  list  of  applicants.  For  the  last  occupant  of  the  post 
had  been  an  amiable,  spirited,  successful  teacher,  whose 
administration  of  three  or  four  years  had  given  great  popu- 


IN   AMERICA.  141 

larity  to  the  academy,  so  that  she  and  her  place  were  well 
known.  Several  of  her  own  former  pupils  had  offered 
themselves  to  the  board  of  trustees  as  her  successors,  and 
some  of  her  contemporaries  at  the  Normal  School. 

Mr.  Wilkie  did  not,  however,  shrink  at  the  mere  appear 
ance  of  a  difficulty;  and,  as,  on  investigation,  he  thought  that 
Margaret  would  find  her  duty  here  a  valuable  and  agree 
able  one,  —  while  the  neighborhood  of  Wilton  would  make 
it  pleasant  to  his  own  family  to  have  her  there,  —  he 
applied  himself  at  once  to  such  inquiry  and  conversation  as 
he  thought  desirable,  to  give  some  efficacy  to  her  applica 
tion  as  a  fifteenth  candidate. 

The  decision  rested  with  the  five  trustees  of  the  academy. 
Mr.  Harrod  was  one  of  these, — the  person,  indeed,  to  whom 
Mr.  Wilkie  would  have  first  turned ;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  refer  to  him  now, —  so  he  went  in  search  of  Mr.  Standish, 
an  intelligent  wheelwright,  with  a  large  family,  who  was 
another  of  the  board  of  trustees. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  'Squire  Wilkie,"  said  he,  "I  had  as 
lief  not  be  a  trustee,  and  I  hardly  know  why  I  am  one ; 
that  I  send  seven  children  to  the  school  is  the  reason 
they  chose  me,  but  if  they  had  remembered  how  much 
trouble  it  is  to  get  them  there,  they  should  have  spared  me 
the  other  trouble  of  getting  the  teacher.  You  are  the 
seventh,  eighth  person,  who  has  come  to  me  this  week  in 
this  matter. 

"  I  can  tell  you  who  the  candidates  are,  and  what  I  think 
their  chances.  Miss  Aight,  she  is  the  favorite  of  the  prin 
cipal  ;  Miss  Bean,  she  taught  the  school  when  Miss  Fol- 
lansbee  was  sick ;  —  she  makes  two ;  —  Miss  Seyd,  she  is 
Miss  Follansbee's  cousin,  and  has  her  recommendation; 
Miss  Dietz,  she  kept  the  town  school  very  well  last  winter ; 
Miss  Eaton,  she  is  old  Jack  Eaton's  daughter,  you  know. 


142  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

Well,  if  you  wanted,  I  could  go  through  the  alphabet  with 
them.  But,  between  four  or  five  of  these,  the  question 
rests.  If  you  choose,  I  can  tell  you  who  '  they  say '  will 
vote  for  each  of  these ;  but  if  '  they '  know  as  little  about 
other  people's  votes  as  I  know  about  mine,  '  they'  are  very 
much  in  the  dark. 

"  In  one  word,  —  the  board,  like  men  of  sense,  as  most 
of  them  are,  will  not  make  up  their  minds  till  they  have 
seen  the  girls  themselves ;  and  will  not  quarrel  much,  since 
it  is  clear  they  have  a  good  list  to  choose  from.  We  can 
not  do  far  from  right." 

"  I  should  think  so.  In  five  words,  then,  Miss  Percival 
is  a  highly  educated  English  woman.  Examine  her,  and 
see  how  you  like  her.  She  is  used  to  children." 

"  Bring  her  on, —  and  twenty  more,  if  you  have  them." 
Then,  as  Mr.  Wilkie  turned  away,  —  "  English,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  long  here  ? " 

"  A  week." 

"So  little  while?" 

"  She  came  from  New  York  with  me.  Landed  Satur 
day." 

"  Reads  Latin  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Greek?" 

"  I  think  so." ' 

"  Miss  Follansbee  left  a  good  Greek  class.  But  that 's 
not  much  matter." 

Mr.  Wilkie  turned  away  again. 

"  O,  Wilkie  !  —  What  persuasion  is  she  ?  " 

"  Episcopalian." 

"Church  of  England,  —  eh?  — that's  well.  Not  that 
we,  on  the  board,  care  a  straw ;  but  it  happened  that  our 


IN    AMERICA.  143 

last  two  or  three  appointments  were  Baptists  ;  and,  I  believe, 
some  of  the  zealots  were  a  little  disturbed,  and  they  im 
plied  that  poor  Mr.  Mimster,  who  is  on  the  board,  had 
been  intriguing  in  the  matter.  The  fact  was,  that  I  nomi 
nated  two  of  them  myself,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  what 
their  persuasion  was.  But  this  has  brought  the  idea  of 
denominational  balance  into  this  election.  And  if  she  had 
been  a  Baptist,  our  old  friend,  —  you  know  who,  —  would 
have  thought  it  '  expedient,'  « to  conciliate,'  &c.  &c. ;  — 
you  know  how." 

Mr.  Wilkie  nodded  assent. 

"  But  as  there  is  not  an  Episcopalian  on  the  board,  and, 
so  far  as  I  know,  in  the  school,  we  can  name  her  without 
any  of  that  trouble,  at  least.  However,  none  of  us  will 
make  any  promises.  Let  her  come  to  be  examined,  Mon 
day,  if  she  pleases,  and  we  will  give  her  a  fair  chance." 

This  was  the  conversation  which  Mr.  Wilkie  had  re 
peated  to  Mr.  Harrod;  and  which,  with  Mr.  Harrod's 
comments,  he  repeated  again  to  Margaret. 

He  hardly  knew  the  line  of  thought  which  he  excited  in 
Margaret's  mind. 

There  was,  first,  something  queer  to  her  in  this  rapidity 
of  movement  and  arrangement.  She  wondered  there  had 
not  been  more  talk, — more  inquiry.  She  was,  indeed,  inex 
pressibly  relieved  to  see  the  entire  waiving  of  anything 
which  seemed  like  solicitation  or  canvassing,  —  the  cool, 
confident  way  with  which  Mr.  Wilkie  was  leaving  her 
appointment  on  its  own  merits,  without  thought  or  effort  to 
use  personal  influence,  or  patronage.  He  said  he  knew  all 
the  trustees,  but  he  had  spoken  to  none  of  them,  excepting 
Mr.  Standish. 

Most  of^ill,  however,  was  Margaret  surprized,  —  and  she 
could  hardly  analyze  her  feeling  here,-— at  finding  that  her 


144  MARGAHET   PERCIVAL 

one  recommendation  to  a  board  of  Dissenters  was,  that  she 
was  not  one  of  them.  She  could  not  persuade  herself  that 
here  was  an  implied  homage  to  her  Church.  Mr.  Wilkie 
had  spoken  of  it  without  thinking  how  much  it  interested 
her ;  but  when  she  drew  him  out,  she  found  that  there  was, 
beneath  it,  not  a  feeling  of  special  regard  for  her  commun 
ion,  but  a  sense  of  the  entire  equality  of  all  such  subdi 
visions,  such  as  she  had  scarcely  dreamed  of  before. 

"  My  uncle  used  to  speak  of  our  Church,"  said  she  to 
herself,  "  as  in  Providence  the  Church  of  England,  if 
nothing  more.  What  would  he  think,  to  know  that  here 
is  an  instance  where,  to  a  Church-woman,  it  is  fortunate 
that  she  happens  to  be  all  alone,  among  people  of  other 
persuasions  ? " 

And  then  she  wondered  whether  her  uncle  would  credit 
the  entire  equality,  as  between  different  sects,  which  Mr. 
Wilkie's  statement  supposed. 

She  asked  him  some  further  question  about  it.  "  O !  as 
to  that,"  said  he,  "  do  not  misunderstand  me.  As  a  whole, 
perhaps  we  have  our  share  of  bigotry.  Standish  is  a  Metho 
dist, —  a  sincere,  zealous  Methodist,  —  but  he  is  a  man  of 
sense.  The  fools  here  are  bigots,  as  they  are  everywhere, 
Miss  Percival." 

When  the  day  came,  Margaret  brought  up  her  courage 
to  go  to  meet  the  examination,  and  was  self-possessed 
enough  to  bring  home  an  amusing  account  of  it  in  the  even 
ing.  Only  ten  of  the  "candidates"  had  appeared.  She 
had  found  it  quite  sensible,  but  sometimes  inconceivably 
odd,  as  when  some  one  asked  her  how  she  would  teach 
"Verbation"  and  "Figuration;"*  but  her  trial  was  not, 
however,  at  all  severe. 

*See  Goodenow's  Book  of  Elements. 


IN   AMERICA.  145 

The  issue  is  best  told  in  Mr.  Harrod's  little  note  of 
triumph. 

"Wednesday  Eve. 
"  DEAR  WILKIE  :  — 

"  Miss  Margaret  is  chosen.     As  thus 

"  First  ballot :  —  Miss  Aight,  Miss  Bean,  Miss  Seyd,  Miss 
Dietz,  Miss  Percival,  —  one  each.  The  last,  mine.  Second 
ballot :  ditto,  ditto.  Then  we  all  talked,  except  myself ; 
everybody  praised  his  candidate,  excepting  me;  I  said 
nothing.  Third  ballot,  as  before.  Still  I  said  nothing. 
Fourth  ballot,  —  for  Miss  Percival,  five.  And  then,  as 
everybody  had  done  his  best  for  his  own  friend,  everybody 
seemed  satisfied.  They  are  all  pleased  with  the  eclat 
which  follows  a  stranger,  and  curious  enough  to  try  the 
experiment  of  new  systems. 

"  Give  my  regards  to  her,  and  say  I  hope  she  will  like 
us  as  well  as  we  like  her.  Truly  yours, 

"  W.  HARROD." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IT  was  now  decided,  that,  in  a  week's  time,  Margaret 
must  leave  the  Wilkies,  to  go  to  Wilton,  to  enter  upon  her 
new  duties.  For  herself,  Margaret  scarcely  knew  whether 
she  were  called  upon  to  rejoice  in,  or  regret,  such  a  separa 
tion.  She  found  herself  fast  weaving  ties  of  affection  in 
this  new  home.  Its  kindliness,  its  warmth,  all  the  delicacy 
of  feeling  that  was  shown  her,  was  quickly  winning  upon 
her  heart.  And  Anna's  unobtrusive  friendship  was  begin 
ning  to  impress  her  deeply.  She  had  already  learned,  by 
experience,  that  there  is  a  higher  virtue  than  shunning 
temptation,  and  that  is  in  conquering  it.  But  this  experi 
ence  was  taught  her  by  bitter  suffering  and  struggle,  the 
13 


146  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

traces  of  which  she  yet  felt  weighing  upon  her ;  and  she 
asked  herself,  if  she  needed  to  go  through  such  a  trial  again, 
if  it  were  not  better,  than  to  look  this  new  temptation  in  the 
face,  to  turn  away  from  it  altogether.  In  the  quiet  of  Wil 
ton,  —  in  the  round  of  daily  duties,  —  in  the  society,  there, 
of  her  own  church,  —  she  felt  as  if  she  might  recover  that 
equanimity,  that  all  the  excitement  she  had  lately  been 
through  had  disturbed.  In  the  mean  while,  her  wearied 
body  and  mind  could  both  be  refreshed  by  the  repose  and 
excitement  that  a  "happy  home"  could  offer  her.  She 
could,  without  danger  to  her  form  of  faith,  watch  Anna's 
daily  movements,  share  in  her  ceaseless  benevolent  activity, 
and  wonder  at  that  constant  cheerfulness,  —  a  cheerfulness 
that  never  flagged  or  failed.  Yet  such,  she  felt,  could  spring 
from  but  one  source.  She  knew  it  must  be  fed  from  the 
Highest  Source  of  all. 

Anna  sought  to  make  Margaret  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  peculiarities  of  the  spot  she  would  presently  make  her 
home.  In  one  of  their  rides,  she  proposed  they  should  stop 
at  one  of  the  district  schools,  at  a  little  distance  from  home. 
She  told  Margaret  that  this  school  was  different  from  that 
she  would  have  the  charge  of.  She  thought  Margaret's 
cares  would  not  be  as  great  as  those  of  the  teacher  here. 

"  We  shall  get  to  the  school  just  before  Miss  Clifford  dis 
misses  it ;  and  I  think  you  will  see  that  she  has,  under  her 
care,  some  spirits  difficult  to  keep  in  subjection." 

They  found  about  fifty  children  assembled,  boys  and  girls, 
whose  eager  looks  all  turned  towards  the  door,  as  Mr.  New- 
stead,  with  Anna,  Gertrude,  and  Miss  Percival,  entered. 
Miss  Clifford  received  them  kindly.  She  was  a  young, 
delicate  girl,  and  she  was  standing  to  receive  the  books,  that 
the  children  were  quietly  bringing  to  her.  After  a  while, 
she  gave  the  signal  for  their  dismission ;  and  the  girls  first 


IN   AMERICA.  147 

went  out,  and  the  boys  followed  them,  each,  as  they  passed, 
giving  Miss  Clifford  a  smiling,  pleasant  nod  of  good-by. 
Mr.  Newstead  had  something  to  say  to  some  of  the  boys, 
who,  however,  were  in  a  hurry  to  get  out,  and  gave  a  shout 
of  delight,  as  they  regained  their  freedom. 

"I  should  think,"  said  Anna,  to  Miss  Clifford,  "you 
would  be  glad  to  join,  yourself,  in  such  a  shout  of  joy  as 
that.  You  look  tired." 

"  I  am  tired  to-day.  This  is  one  of  my  days  of  fatigue. 
I  have  days  when  things  don't  work  as  well,  and  when  the 
children  seem  tired,  and  I  feel  more  discouraged  than 
usual." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Gertrude,  "  such  days  would  come 
often.  I  cannot  understand  how  you  can  keep  up  your 
courage,  or  where  it  comes  from,  for  such  an  undertaking 
as  this.  I  should  think  every  day  would  be  a  day  of  dis 
couragement." 

"  No,  it  is  my  own  fault  when  such  days  come.  It  is 
astonishing  how  soon  the  children  discover  that  the  atmos 
phere  is  not  quite  clear  with  me.  The  older  ones  are  a 
great  help  at  such  a  time,  —  they  do  what  they  can  to  re 
lieve  me ;  but  the  younger  ones  are  disturbed.  Something 
is  the  matter,  and  they  don't  know  why.  They  don't  under 
stand  the  cause ;  but  they  feel,  immediately,  that  something 
is  out  of  order.  If  I  have  a  head-ache,  and  am  languid  in 
my  way  of  teaching,  I  don't  explain  things  so  clearly,  and 
the  stupid  ones  grow  more  stupid,  they  don't  know  why;  or, 
I  am  irritable,  and  that  excites  the  sensitive  ones ;  and  then, 
if  there  are  any  who  have  a  tendency  to  head-ache,  why, 
their  heads  begin  to  ache,  out  of  sympathy." 

"  It  is  no  laughing  matter,  I  should  think,"  said  Anna. 

"  No ;  but  sometimes  I  feel  inclined  to  laugh,  when  I  am 
in  such  a  state.  To  think  that  poor  little  I  should  have  such 


148  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

an  influence  over  such  an  army  of  children !  It  serves  to 
drive  away  some  heavy  feelings,  sometimes,  xvhen  I  find, 
that,  if  I  am  only  inclined  to  be  happy  and  cheerful,  the 
whole  school  joins  in,  and  everything  goes  on  '  merry  as  a 
marriage  bell.' " 

"  It  is  the  same  in  other  places,  besides  a  school,"  said 
Anna. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  freshener,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  to 
come  in  among  so  many  young  spirits.  I  have  had,  many 
times,  cobwebs  of  fancies  and  theories,  that  were  clouding 
my  brain,  swept  out  by  coming  into  a  school  full  of  boys, 
who  have  called  upon  all  my  energies,  and  have  not  let  me 
rest,  without  giving  up  to  them  every  faculty  of  body  and 
mind." 

"  Now  that  your  school-room  is  ready  for  you  to  leave," 
said  Anna,  "  I  hope  you  are  to  have  some  fresh  air." 

"  Yes,  I  am  going,  with  one  of  my  girls,  in  search  of  some 
fringed  gentians.  Two  of  the  boys  are  to  guide  us.  I  see 
they  are  waiting  for  me.  They  say  they  will  lead  me  to 
one  of  the  prettiest  spots  I  ever  saw." 

And  Ellen  Clifford  bade  them  good-by,  the  bright  color 
returning  to  her  pale  cheeks,  as  she  struck  in  among  the 
woods,  behind  the  school-house,  with  her  companions. 

"  Miss  Clifford  is  a  wonder,  indeed,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  she 
has  such  a  young,  fresh  look ;  and  such  care  as  she  must 
have  to  contend  with ! " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  she  cannot  have  been 
long  in  the  business,  or  her  spirits  would  be  more  tamed." 

"  Are  these  the  children  of  the  poor  classes?"  said  Mar 
garet. 

"  0,  Margaret !  "  "  O,  Miss  Percival !  "  "  It  is  fortunate 
you  did  not  ask  that  question  in  their  presence.  I  am  really 
afraid  they  would  have  resented  it ;  because  they  all  think 


IN   AMERICA.  149 

themselves  as  well  off  as  any  one  is.  It  is  the  only  school 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  all  the  children  come  here.  If 
Gertrude  and  I  had  lived  here  in  our  school-days,  we  should 
have  been  among  them.  As  for  Miss  Clifford,  I  believe  she 
has  taken  up  this  occupation  from  matter  of  choice.  There 
is  a  tale  that  she  was  disappointed  in  some  love  affair,  and 
she  wanted  some  employment  to  refresh  her  mind  with,  and 
recover  her  energies.  But  I  have  seen  very  little  of  her, 
and  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it." 

"  It  is  a  new  cure,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  "  for  a  wounded 
heart.  Perhaps  Miss  Clifford  finds  some  relief  in  the  devo 
tion  of  her  scholars.  Some  of  the  boys  looked  as  if  they 
would  be  willing  to  do  anything  for  her  sake." 

The  sun  was  sinking  now,  and  there  could  be  no  words 
but  exclamations  at  the  beauty  of  the  scene ;  and  even  these 
died  away,  under  the  influence  of  repose  that  was  shed 
around.  The  distant  mountains  seemed  to  be  drawn  nearer, 
by  the  scarlet  and  crimson  tints  of  their  foliage,  and  all  the 
valley  between  seemed  to  glow  with  brilliant  colors.  Thick 
patches  of  heavy  pine  stood,  forming  a  deep  contrast  to  the 
bright  maples  and  brown  oaks.  And  in  the  still  stream 
winding  through  the  valley,  all  these  colors  repeated  them 
selves.  The  maple  leaned  over,  as  if  to  see  reflected  its 
varying  leaves,  of  every  shade  of  red;  and  the  slender 
birches  saw  clearly  traced  below  their  delicate  yellow  foli 
age.  A  single  cardinal-flower  lingered  on  the  water's 
edge,  as  if  to  show  there  was  still  another  scarlet  left  than 
that  with  which  tree  and  shrub  had  arrayed  themselves. 
Along  the  roadside  were  hedges,  gorgeous  with  their  richly 
glowing  fruit ;  and  leaf  and  berry  seemed  to  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  richness  and  brilliancy  of  their  hue;  and  the 
setting  sun  had  drawn  around  it  a  drapery  as  splendid,  and 
every  moment  varying.  Pile.s  of  cloud-towers  rose  and  feJJ, 
' 


150  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

stained  with  purple  and  gold;  and  far  back  in  the  east 
hung  cloudlets  tinged  with  crimson  coloring.  But  when 
the  sun  had  disappeared,  these  slowly  vanished,  till,  where 
the  sun  had  sunk,  was  left  a  clear  golden  glow,  that  deep 
ened  into  an  intensity  over  the  western  hills.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  rustling  of  leaves,  or  the  murmuring  of 
a  brook,  or  some  distant  cry  of  a  bird ;  and,  as  the  party 
rode  on,  each  one  sunk  back  in  thought.  There  was  a 
little  chill  in  the  air,  and  Mr.  Newstead  cheered  on  his 
horse. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

SOME  weeks  passed  away,  and  Margaret  was  in  her  new 
home  at  Wilton.  She  had  passed  two  weeks  in  Fairmead- 
ow,  —  two  brightly-glowing  autumnal  weeks,  when  each 
day  passed  on  with  a  bright,  clear  sky,  and  the  earth  glow 
ing  in  brilliant  foliage.  They  were  weeks  that  seemed  to 
Margaret  weeks  of  enchantment.  There  had  been  an  ex 
hilaration  in  the  air,  that  had  given  her  the  power,  each 
day,  to  bear  fatigue  and  excitement,  that  she  had  no  idea 
before  she  had  the  strength  for.  She  had  felt  an  animation 
that  had  made  every  pulse  glow,  and  this  in  spite  of  the 
sense  of  loneliness  and  home-sickness  that  she  knew  in 
truth  lay  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
moment  she  must  be  busy  in  drinking  in  the  enjoyment 
nature  was  so  lavish  of,  ere  the  evil  days  should  come, 
when  she  should  say  she  had  no  pleasure  in  them.  She, 
many  days,  walked  to  Wilton,  with  Anna,  who  was  fond 
of  long  walks ;  and  there  she  would  meet  the  faces  of  those 
who,  by  and  by,  were  to  form  her  home  circle.  Mr.  New- 
stead  occasionally  accompanied  them.  He  was  always 


IN   AMERICA.  151 

full  of  talk,  that  excited  and  amused  Margaret,  and  quite 
as  often  it  shocked  her.  He  was  familiar  with  all  the 
beauties  that  nature  was  shedding  around  them.  He  had  a 
particular  faculty  in  pressing  leaves  so  that  they  should 
preserve  their  brilliancy  of  color,  arid  his  quick  eye  was 
ready  to  discover  the  delicate  fern  that  the  dying  leaves 
were  eager  to  hide.  In  this  way,  Margaret  discerned  new 
beauties  in  a  nature,  that  had  no  history  of  the  past  to  tell, 
but  that  wore  a  beauty  entirely  its  own ;  and  when  night 
came,  after  these  days  of  fatigue,  it  brought  a  quiet,  happy 
sleep,  and  also  her  renewed  strength  for  another  day  of 
duty,  in  preparing  her  plans  for  the  future  and  the  comforts 
of  her  new  home.  It  was  very  hard,  after  such  days  of 
excitement,  and  she  had  reached  that  new  home,  —  after 
her  sad  parting  with  her  now  dear  friends,  the  Wilkies ; 
with  Gertrude,  of  whose  warm  tenderness  she  had  learnt 
the  value,  —  now  that  she  was  again  opening  upon  a  new  life, 
it  was  hard  to  have  some  dark,  heavy  days  of  storm,  that 
kept  even  the  hospitable  inhabitants  of  Wilton  within  their 
doors,  come,  with  an  influence  of  sadness,  to  form  a  con 
trast  to  such  days  of  exhilaration. 

A  heavy  wind  shook  the  leaves  from  the  trees,  and 
sighed  through  the  pines ;  a  dark  sky  hung  over  the  earth. 

"  The  year  is  dying  away,  like  the  sound  of  bells.  The 
wind  passes  over  the  stubble,  and  finds  nothing  to  mov«- . 
Only  the  red  berries  of  that  slender  tree  seem  as  if  t1  ,< 
would  fain  remind  us  of  something  cheerful ;  and  ,he 
measured  beat  of  the  threshing-flail  calls  up  the  thought 
that  in  the  dry  and  fallen  ear  lies  so  much  of  nourishment 
and  life." 

Gertrude,  too,  moved  about  more  thoughtfully,  as  these 
days  came  on.  The  former  sunny,  glowing  days,  had 
passed  swiftly  with  her.  She  had  been  well  enough  to 


152  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

have  a  few  rides  on  Anna's  horse,  and  these  rides  had 
added  another  exhilaration  to  the  elasticity  of  the  weather. 
She  had  hardly  had  time  for  anything  but  bodily  fatigue, 
and  then  bodily  repose ;  and  when  there  now  came  a  time 
for  thought,  her  mind  was  desirous  to  act  more  strongly. 
She  longed  for  some  great  duty  towards  which  she  might 
bend  her  new-found  strength,  and  turned  away  with  sorrow 
from  what  she  called  her  former  aimless  existence.  A 
short  time  before,  she  had  received  Lizzie's  letter,  and  had 
since  had  a  letter  from  Agnes. 

Anna  had  read  these  letters  with  some  interest.  She  had 
feared,  from  the  first  of  them,  and  from  what  Gertrude  told 
her  of  the  Spensers,  that  the  children  were,  indeed,  in  not 
exactly  the  right  position.  Aunt  Clara  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  allowing  them  so  much  freedom,  —  had  been  so 
careful  to  adapt  their  studies  to  their  particular  tastes,  —  that 
Anna  feared  this  sudden  change  of  atmosphere  might  be 
hurtful  to  them.  From  what  Gertrude  told  her  of  Lizzie, 
Anna  felt  as  if  she  were  a  child  who  required  peculiar  care. 
She  seemed  to  have  the  delicate  dreamy  nature  that  formed 
a  part  of  Gertrude's  character,  that  needed  a  particular  nur 
ture.  She  wondered  if  Gertrude  were  not  the  very  person 
to  assist  in  this  nurture,  for  the  good  of  both.  If  Gertrude 
could  see  how  ill  was  the  effect  of  long,  dreamy  reveries  in 
such  a  child,  would  it  not  awake"  her  to  greater  action,  at 
least  by  way  of  example  ? 

Gertrude's  friendship  for  Margaret  Percival  did  not  grow 
so  fast  as  she  had  fancied  it  would.  There  was  a  slight 
vein  of  reserve  that  shielded  each  from  the  other.  Ger 
trude  was  afraid  to  confess  to  Margaret  how  great  were  the 
doubts  that  sometimes  weighed  her  down.  Sometimes  she 
envied  the  strong  faith  that  Margaret  seemed  to  hold  in  the 
stability  of  her  own  Church,  and  she  wanted  to  ask  her 


IN    AMERICA.  153 

what  was  the  door,  by  which  she,  too,  might  enter  therein. 
Sometimes  she  thought  of  asking  Mr.  Wilkie's  advice ;  then 
she  feared  he  might  not  sympathize  with  her  wants,  and 
would  wonder  that  she  could  not  define  to  him  what  her 
desires  were.  And  Mrs.  Wilkie,  —  she  looked  on  her  with 
wonder  and  admiration,  to  see  how  she  was  never  at  a  loss 
for  action,  especially  benevolent  action.  But,  doubtful  as 
she  felt  of  all  these,  and  uncertain  whether  or  no  to  speak 
to  them  of  her  fears,  she  never  hesitated  about  speaking  to 
Anna ;  and,  each  night,  was  never  troubled  how  to  form  her 
words,  in  telling  all  her  doubts  and  uncertainties  to  her 
friendly  ear. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Gertrude  received  a  summons. 
A  message  came  from  her  father,  to  tell  her  of  the  severe 
illness  of  her  Aunt  Clara,  in  Baltimore.  Mr.  Ashton  begged 
that  Mr.  Wilkie  would  find  some  one  to  accompany  Ger 
trude  to  Springfield,  where  he  would  himself  meet  her,  and 
they  would  both,  as  speedily  as  possible,  hasten  on  to  Bal 
timore.  Gertrude  had  scarcely  time  for  thought  or  words. 
"  O,  Anna,"  she  said,  "  I  have  feared  there  was  coming 
some  heavy  change  for  me,  —  that  the  moment  of  battle  was 
drawing  near !  Think  of  me,  Anna,  and  pray  that  I  may 
act  as  you  would  in  my  place  !  " 

"  I  cannot  pray  so.  I  will  pray  that  a  higher  strength 
may  support  and  guide  you ;  and,  indeed,  I  feel  sure  that  it 
will." 

Mr.  Wilkie  drove  Gertrude  to  Wilton,  where  she  was  to 
meet  Mr.  Benton,  who  agreed  to  take  her  under  his  charge 
till  she  should  meet  her  father  in  Springfield.  Anna  went 
as  far  as  Wilton  with  her;  and  they  stopped,  a  few  moments, 
on  their  way  to  the  station,  to  bid  good-by  to  Margaret 
Percival. 

As  Gertrude  left  behind  her  the  house  where  she  had 


154  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

found  such  a  happy  home,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She 
turned  to  look  down  the  hill  at  the  valley  where  the  river 
was  rolling  on.  The  trees  were  now  almost  leafless,  and 
between  them  could  be  traced  the  outline  of  the  distant 
hills. 

"  Farewell  to  the  happy  valley !  "  said  Gertrude  ;  "  I  am 
afraid  that  I  who  leave  it  may  never  return." 

"  If  we  are  here,  Gertrude,  you  are  sure  to  return  ;  that 
you  know.  But  our  beautiful  view  does,  indeed,  look  sad, 
as  though  it  were  sorry  to  have  you  go.  You  have  appre 
ciated  all  its  loveliness." 

"  The  world  is  all  before  me  where  to  choose.  I  think 
I  am  entering  upon  a  new  life,  Anna ;  yet  I  dare  not  look 
forward.  It  overwhelms  me  when  I  think  of  Aunt  Clara, — 
my  dear  Aunt  Clara.  0,  Anna,  how  much  pain  I  have  cost 
her,  in  my  short  life  !  All  this  comes  before  me  suddenly, 
now.  I  dread  this  journey,  —  to  be  alone  with  myself;  for 
now  I  know  that  there  will  return  to  haunt  me,  all  that  I 
might  have  done  to  add  to  her  happiness,  —  all  that  I  failed 
to  do.  I  have  wished  to  tell  you  before  of  the  visitings  of 
conscience  I  have  had  in  this  regard.  I  allowed  certain 
prejudices  to  blind  me  to  all  the  kindness  that  now  I  feel 
Aunt  Clara  would  have  shown  me.  The  road  is  turning, 
—  my  last  glance  at  the  dear  spire,  —  the  hills  must  now 
shut  out  the  village  !  " 

"  Don't  let  such  dreary  thoughts  oppress  you,  Gertrude. 
You  will  now  have  a  chance  to  show  to  your  Aunt  Clara, 
the  depth  of  love  you  have  for  her.  You  will  meet  your 
father,  —  he  will  expect  to  see  you  so  much  better  than 
when  he  saw  you  so  ill  in  Fairmeadow.  You  must  let 
him  see  that  our  care  has  improved  you.  And  papa  thought 
one  of  Mr.  Beriton's  daughters  was  to  accompany  him ;  you 
must  let  her  cheer  you  up." 


IN    AMERICA.  155 

"  0,  Anna  !  it  will  be  dismal  to  have  to  talk  to  her  all  the 
way." 

"  Now,  Gertrude,  you  are  determined  to  turn  all  my  com 
forts  into  horrors.-  I  believe,  if  I  were  to  offer  to  escort  you 
myself,  you  would  think  you  must  bemoan  the  task  of  enter 
taining  me.  But,  surely,  there  is  Margaret,  on  her  way 
home  from  the  academy  !  " 

Margaret  greeted  them  with  joy. 

"  Two  whole  days  that  I  have  not  seen  you !  Two 
dreary  days  !  " 

"  We  should  have  been  here,"  said  Anna,  "in  spite  of  the 
deluge  of  rain,  if  they  had  let  us  come." 

Margaret  was  very  sad  to  hear  of  Gertrude's  summons 
away ;  and  the  party  went  together  to  the  station,  in  the 
midst  of  sorrowful  words  of  parting.  Mr.  Benton  and  his 
daughter  were  there.  Mary  Benton  was  in  gay  spirits,  full 
of  the  thought  of  her  first  visit  to  New  York,  and  depending 
upon  meeting  with  some  great  and  startling  adventure.  Ger 
trude  turned  away  from  her  again,  to  bid  the  last  farewell. 

"  Don't  be  too  mournful,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie ;  "  we  shall 
hear,  I  hope,  good  news  from  you ;  and,  by  Christmas  time, 
shall  have  welcomed  you  back." 

The  sound  of  the  approaching  train  was  heard.  The 
cars  had  arrived,  and  Gertrude  was  gone. 

Anna  was  very  desirous  that  Margaret  should  accompany 
her  homeward,  to  help  to  console  her  for  Gertrude's  loss,  as 
Margaret  had  gone  through  all  her  school  duties  for  the  day. 
They  both  decided  they  would  walk  back  to  the  Wilkies' 
in  the  afternoon;  and  Mr.  Wilkie  agreed  to  send  Margaret 
home,  the  next  morning,  in  time  for  her  daily  occupations. 
Anna  then  returned  with  Margaret  to  dine. 

She  was  pleased  to  see  the  neatness  with  which  Mrs. 
Brace,  Margaret's  hostess,  kept  her  table,  and  the  motherly 


156  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

interest  that  she  showed  for  Miss  Percival ;  and  she  felt  that 
Margaret  was  indeed  fortunate,  in  finding  such  a  home. 

At  an  early  hour,  they  set  forth  on  their  walk  homewards. 
The  air  had  grown  milder,  though  the  sky  was  still  clouded. 
Anna  felt  as  if  it  might  be  the  last  walk  they  would  have 
through  the  woods.  If  an  early  snow  should  come,  it  would 
oblige  them  to  leave  the  pretty  winding  path  they  had 
enjoyed  so  much  through  the  autumn ;  and,  if  they  ven 
tured  to  walk  at  all,  they  must  take  the  more  travelled  road. 

As  they  walked  on,  they  talked  of  Gertrude. 

"  She  is  a  person  who  interests  me  deeply,"  said  Marga 
ret.  "  I  have  wished  I  could  do  something  for  her.  I  have 
thought,  at  times,  she  was  seeking  earnestly  for  a  path 
towards  which  I  might  help  her.  I  have  longed  to  stretch 
forth  my  hand  towards  her.  She  has  sometimes  expressed 
doubt  upon  certain  subjects.  I  have  hesitated  approaching 
them.  Yet,  Anna,  I  must  express  my  wonder,  that,  when 
Gertrude  has  shown  so  much  dependence  upon  you,  —  upon 
you,  who  seem  to  stand  firmly  in  the  path  you  have  chosen,  — 
I  have  wondered,  when,  in  talking,  she  has  expressed  doubts, 
that  you  have  not  shown  clearly  where  your  faith  rests. 
And,  Anna,  I  have  wanted  to  ask  you,  if  it  were  possible  your 
silence  could  arise  from  any  uncertainty  yourself;  then, 
indeed,  I  have  wished  my  words  might  be  more  powerful,  — 
I  have  wished  that  I  might —  " 

"  You  have  thought  you  might  help  me,  too ;  and  so,  per 
haps,  you  can.  I  will  tell  you  that  Gertrude  and  I  have  often 
talked  on  religious  subjects,  when  she  has  spoken  to  me  of 
doubts  such  as  you  speak  of,  —  of  want  of  faith,  which  often 
depresses  her.  And  she  knows  what  my  feelings  are,  on  this 
subject;  that  I  feel  that  the  solution  to  these  questions  must 
be  wrought  out,  each  for  one's  self,  —  that  we  are  each 
called  upon  to  work  out  our  own  salvation.  And  oh,  Mar- 


IN    AMERICA,  157 

garet !  do  not  think  that  I  speak  this  unfeelingly,  without  a 
consciousness  of  how  much  we  can  do  for  each  other,  or 
how  much  we  can  help  each  other  onward  !  I  believe,  Mar 
garet,  that  we  three  are  destined  to  do  much,  in  our  onward 
course,  each  for  the  other  ;  nay,  that  we  need  each  other,  and 
might  fail  and  fall  for  want  each  of  the  other's  support.  By 
the  silent  influence  of  our  different  characters,  —  by  words, 
and  counsel,  and  encouragement,  and  consolation,  —  we  are 
meant  to  strengthen  each  other  in  the  race  that  is  set  before 
us.  All  this,  I  think,  we  can  do,  even  if,  in  the  end,  we 
stand  side  by  side,  in  our  hearts  -a  different  belief,  on  our 
lips  a  different  form  of  worship." 

"  Can  you  think  that,  Anna  ? "  said  Margaret,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  Have  you  no  longing,  that,  at  least,  on  the  last  day,  all  those 
whom  you  love  most  will  be  gathered  together,  in  one  and 
the  same  church,  uttering  the  same  confession  of  faith  ?  " 

"  Once  I  had  such  a  longing,  and  felt  it  most  intensely. 
I  said,  out  of  my  heart,  — 

{ Ein  Tempel,  wo  wir  knieen, 
Ein  Ort,  wohin  wir  siehen, 
Ein  Gluck,  fur  das  wir  gluhen 
Ein  Himmel  mir  und  dir !' 

But  a  part  of  this  feeling  is  passing  away  with  me.  I  may 
have  outgrown  it,  Margaret.  I  hope  I  am  growing.  But, 
stop  a  moment ;  —  look  here  !  Within  our  sight,  —  though 
the  closeness  of  the  trees  and  the  rising  hill  bounds  our 
sight  narrowly,  —  we  see  oaks,  a  hemlock,  pines,  there  is 
a  maple,  and  there  brakes  and  delicate  ferns,  —  how  many 
varieties  of  growth  from  apparently  one  soil !  We  have 
learnt  that  Nature  has  scattered  her  different  vegetable  races 
in  different  regions  of  the  globe,  where  each  has  found  its 
home.  Yet,  not  far  from  the  equator,  mountain  ranges  dis 
play,  from  their  base  to  their  summit,  all  the  varying  races 
14 


158  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

the  rest  of  the  world  affords.  How,  out  of  apparently  sim 
ilar  circumstances,  a  different  life  draws  a  different  form  of 
being!  If  we  had,  —  when  we  have,  a  higher  form  of  per 
ception,  we  shall  see,  perhaps,  how,  in  different  regions,  are 
planted  different  religions,  —  I  mean  different  forms  of 
religion.  How,  in  such  a  country  as  this,  all  these  forms 
are  mingled,  and  develop  side  by  side  ! 

"  And,  Margaret,  when  I  see  how  little  we  know  of  such 
things,  I  feel  as  if  it  were  not  my  part  to  influence  the 
belief  of  another,  any  more  than  we  should  think  of  telling 
this  little  maple,  that,  because  the  soil  is  rocky,  and  trees  of 
another  nature  surround  it,  it  ought  to  put  off  its  own 
nature,  since  it  can  never  flourish  here.  Gertrude  has  cer 
tain  doubts  and  fears  on  subjects  where  I  feel  my  faith  stand 
ing  firm.  But  how  can  my  faith  satisfy  her  ?  I  see,  in  her, 
a  holy  aim,  an  earnest  effort.  I  feel  that,  as  long  as  she 
has  these,  she  will  arrive,  somehow  or  other,  some  time  or 
other,  at  the  truth,  —  that  she  will  reach  that  form  of  truth 
that  is  best  for  the  growth  of  her  soul.  There  is  so  much 
that  we  can  impart  to  each  other,  that  we  can  help  each 
other  in ;  while  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  —  by  which  we  can  dis 
cern  the  truth,  that  is,  the  Comforter  that  Christ  has  promised 
us,  —  we  must  wait  till  He  shall  Himself  send  it." 

"  But,  Anna,  do  you  really  mean  that,  if  Gertrude  were 
to  incline  to  become  a  Catholic,  you  would  not  fear  ?  " 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  this  might  happen.  There 
are  many  things  in  Gertrude's  character  that  would  make 
such  a  form  of  religion  fascinating  to  her.  Sometimes,  she 
has  such  a  longing  to  lean  upon  others,  I  have  thought  such 
a  change  might  take  place ;  and  I  will  say,  too,  that  I  have 
feared  it,  —  for  it  is  a  form  of  religion  for  which  I  find  in 
myself  the  least  sympathy.  I  have  never  been  into  a  Cath 
olic  church.  I  have  been  very  little  with  Catholics.  I  went 
once  into  a  Catholic  school.  In  one  room  of  the  building,  an 


IN   AMERICA.  159 

altar  was  raised.  The  decorations  upon  it  were  very  mean ; 
the  cloth  upon  the  altar  was  no  longer  white;  there  was 
nothing  even  of  the  beautiful  about  it,  —  certainly,  nothing 
imposing.  Before  this,  the  priest  kneeled,  and  my  heart 
knelt  with  him.  We  presently  passed  out,  and  through  the 
hall  went  out  upon  a  broad  piazza,  from  which,  as  the  build 
ing  stood  high  on  a  hill,  there  stretched  a  glorious  view. 
It  was  winter ;  and  the  outline  of  the  distant  hills  wore  a 
majestic  air.  I  felt  that,  if  ever  I  were  led  to  an  outward 
sign  of  worship,  I  should  have  been  impelled,  rather  there  to 
kneel  before  the  Great  Presence  of  God  in  his  glorious  works. 
"  But,  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  of  my  peculiar  feelings,  in 
this  respect,  because,  as  I  tell  you,  I  think  them  of  little 
importance.  If  Gertrude  were  to  become  a  Catholic,  it 
would  be  to  me,  for  a  while,  sorrowful,  as  at  parting  with  a 
friend  who  is  going  away  in  search  of  health.  We  have 
always  such  a  faith  in  our  own  power  over  those  we  love, 
we  feel,  if  the  chance  were  only  given  us,  we  have  in  our 
selves  the  strength  to  heal  them.  But  I  know,  at  the  same 
time,  that  Gertrude  will  act  with  a  purity  of  intention,  with 
a  prayerful  heart.  And,  if  we  part  for  a  while,  we  shall 
meet  again  happier.  I  mean,  it  may,  for  a  while,  withdraw 
us  from  each  other.  Gertrude  will  feel  as  if  she  had  taken 
a  step  from  me ;  —  this  will  be  while  her  newness  of  belief 
will  make  her  think  she  has  indeed  made  a  great  step,  — 
gone  through  a  great  change.  By  and  by,  she  will  see  we 
have  the  same  sun  above  us,  the  same  influences  from 
the  nature  that  we  love.  We  shall  say,  again,  we  have  the 
same  hopes,  the  same  faith  ; 

'  Ein  Himmel  mir  und  dir.' 

"  But,  Anna,  is  it  not,  at  least,  your  duty  to  lead  her  to 
read  those  books  where  the  falseness  of  such  a  religion  is 


160  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

shown,  —  where  she  can  read,  with  her  own  eyes,  that  the 
foundations  of  such  a  religion  are  false  ?" 

"Margaret,  it  would  be  necessary,  then,  she  should  read 
the  theological  books  of  every  form  of  religion.  It  is  a  kind 
of  reading  that  is  very  much  proscribed  with  us  women. 
You,  for  instance,  have  formed  your  opinions  without  ever 
looking  into  the  many  volumes  on  my  father's  shelves ; 
while  they  may,  perhaps,  be  the  very  basis  of  my  set  of 
opinions.  If  we  were,  now  to  interchange  these  books,  — 
now  that  we  are  beginning  to  grow  settled  in  our  outward 
form  of  belief,  —  you  were  to  give  me  those  you  brought 
from  the  Grove,  and  I  were  to  show  you  those  my  father 
pins  his  faith  to,  —  still,  these  would  be  but  a  part  of  the 
influences  round  us;  and  we  should  be,  I  fear,  just  where  we 
begun." 

"  I  wish,  indeed,  you  would  read  some  of  my  favorite 
books  !  " 

"  When  we  walked  through  these  woods,  some  weeks  ago, 
how  full  of  life  they  were  !  You,  Mr.  Newstead,  Gertrude, 
and  I.  Did  you  never  observe  how  one  would  stop  to  listen 
to  a  bird,  whose  song  had  never  reached  the  other's  ear? 
How  some  little  flower  among  the  thickets  sent  up  a  perfume, 
of  which  only  one  of  us  was  aware  ?  Do  you  remember 
the  little  harebell  that  Gertrude  found  in  a  cleft  among  the 
rocks,  that  we  all  had  passed  by  without  noticing,  —  Ger 
trude,  whom  we  call  so  dreamy  ?  And  we  all  were  holding 
our  senses  wide  awake,  to  drink  in  the  last  delights  that 
autumn  would  give  us.  While  we  \vere  moving  along  with 
the  same  spirit,  one  heard  a  sound,  and  one  was  refreshed  by 
a  perfume,  or  the  sight  of  one  was  blessed,  unnoticed  by  the 
others;  —  these  were  each  heavenly  influences,  coming 
silently,  separately,  to  each  one  of  us,  —  leading  us,  by  dif 
ferent  courses,  to  the  same  Source  of  all ! " 


IN   AMERICA.  161 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

ANNA  and  Margaret  walked  through  the  village  street, 
beneath  the  elms,  that  now  hung  their  long,  almost  leafless 
branches,  waving  and  sighing,  towards  the  ground. 

When  they  had  passed  through  the  village,  they  saw,  in 
the  distance,  Mr.  Newstead,  emerging  from  the  woods. 
The  sight  of  him  led  them  to  discuss  his  character  and  his 
plans. 

"  He  possesses,"  said  Anna,  "  a  singular  combination  of 
decision  and  indecision  of  character." 

"  Did  you  hear,  the  other  day,"  said  Margaret,  "  what 
Mr.  Newstead  said  of  negative  characters?  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  about  it.  Characters  that  seem  made  up  by 
circumstances.  He  compared  them  to  those  pictures  of 
what  he  called  Napoleon  at  his  own  grave-side.  The 
figure,  he  said,  was  quite  appropriate,  as  being  a  mere 
shade,  and  which  was  made  up  of  a  bend  in  a  willow- 
tree  here,  or  an  outline  of  a  mound  there,  —  the  whole  being 
formed  by  an  outward  nature." 

"  No,  I  did  not  hear  him.  Mr.  Newstead,  who  lives  so 
much  in  nature,  ought  to  be  willing  to  acknowledge  that 
everybody,  even  some  of  the  highest  characters,  owe  some 
thing  to  a  bend  in  a  willow-tree  here,  or  a  drooping  elm 
there." 

"  Mr.  Newstead  has  great  power  of  mind.  I  think,  in 
time,  he  ought  to  make  something  great.  I  think  I  should 
share  with  him  his  enthusiasm  of  going  to  the  East,  to  Jeru 
salem,  if  I  felt  one  could  find  there  any  traces  of  the  purity 
and  original  strength  of  the  early  Church  there.  I  am  some 
times  afraid  he  has  too  much  influence  over  me.  I  don't 
14* 


162  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

like  his  loose  way  of  talking,  sometimes ;  yet  he  interests 
me." 

"I  am  not  so  much  afraid  of  such  an  influence.  A  per 
son  who  states  his  opinions  so  boldly,  who  seems  to  feel  so 
sure  he  is  in  the  right  himself,  is  very  apt  to  throw  me  over 
into  the  opposite  scale,  out  of  a  spirit  of  contradiction,  I 
believe.  Yet,  I  like  to  hear  him  talk ;  for  what  he  has  to 
say  often  sets  me  thinking." 

"  He  is  original,  at  least." 

"  But  here  is  Mr.  Newstead  himself.  He  is  rushing 
down  the  hill  to  meet  us.  And  David  Lees  is  with  him. 
David  was  to  be  allowed  to  go  a  nutting,  this  afternoon,  with 
some  of  the  school-children.  I  wonder  where  Mr.  Newstead 
picked  him  up." 

Mr.  Newstead  gave  an  account  of  his  wanderings,  and 
walked  on  with  Margaret,  while  Anna  followed  with  David. 
David  was  rejoiced  at  his  success.  His  cheeks  were 
bright  and  rosy.  His  appearance  was  very  different  from 
that  he  wore  the  day  Mr.  Wilkie  met  him  in  the  streets  of 
New  York,  or  even  the  day  he  came  to  Fairmeadow. 
Then  he  had  a  downcast,  sad  expression,  —  a  look,  uncer 
tain  whether  the  words  of  kindness  that  were  given  him 
were  what  they  claimed  to  be,  or  had  not  some  hidden  ill 
behind  them.  Now  he  had  more  boyishness  about  him, — 
he  carried  about  less  weight  of  care,  and  seemed  more 
thoughtless  in  his  words  and  actions. 

This  afternoon,  he  was  unusually  exhilarated.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  he  had  been  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  woods  ; 
that  was  now  a  pleasure  of  every  day.  But  he  seemed 
more  willing  to  talk  this  afternoon,  and  gave  Anna  an 
account  of  his  exploits. 

"  You  know,  Miss,  at  home,  I  never  saw  such  trees,  —  I 
only  dreamed  of  them ;  and  as  for  the  nuts,  I  used  to  envy 
the  monkeys  eating  them." 


IN    AMERICA.  163 

"  The  monkeys ! "  said  Anna ;  "  where  did  you  see  them  ?" 
"  Why,  you  see,  when  we  were  all  so  anxious  to  come 
out  to  America,  —  for  we  had  great  hopes  of  America,  seeing 
that  we  had  not  much  to  hope  from  there,  —  I  wanted  to  do 
something,  that  we  might  get  a  little  money  to  help  us  out 
here;  and  I  tried  grinding  an  organ,  for  a  little  while. 
Mother  did  not  like  the  idea  very  well ;  hut  one  of  the  boys, 
that  I  knew,  who  hired  an  organ  every  day,  let  me  have  it 
afternoons,  for  little  or  nothing,  as  it  sometimes  proved.  He 
had  a  monkey,  too ;  and  I  carried  the  monkey  round  with 
me.  Then  it  was,  Miss,  that  I  sometimes  envied  the  mon 
key  ;  for  people  would  look  so  compassionately  at  the  poor 
beast.  They  would  say,  sometimes,  he  must  have  had 
many  blows  and  hits.  I  thought  they  did  not  think  so 
much  of  me,  two-legged  beast,  that  stood  behind,  that  had 
had  enough,  God  knows,  of  blows  and  rude  hits.  Then  the 
monkey  had  dainty  cakes,  and  pieces  of  bread ;  and  I  had  to 
stand  to  see  him  eat  them,  wishing,  sometimes,  I  might 
carry  a  piece  to  the  children,  at  home.  And,  then,  he 
cracked  the  nuts  right  merrily.  Not  that  I  quite  grudged 
him  his  treat ;  he  earned  it,  too,  poor  fellow !  and  he  made 
us  laugh,  often,  when  we  did  not  have  so  much  to  laugh  at. 
I  wished  I  had  him  here  this  afternoon;  how  he  would  have 
chattered  among  the  branches  ! " 

"  And  did  you  have  any  success  with  your  organ  ?" 
"  Pretty  good.     Monkey  has  helped  us  a  little  to  come 
out  here.     But  my  father  did  not  think  it  was  a  very  good 
business  for  me,  wandering  about  the  streets.     I  wish  he 
could  see  me  here,  Miss,  and  how  kind  you  all  are  ! " 

"  You  must  attend  to  your  writing,  so  that  you  can  send 
your  mother  a  letter  you  have  written  yourself,  to  tell  her 
how  you  get  along." 

Mrs.  Wilkie  met  the  party  at  the  door.     "  I  began  to 


164  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

think  you  had  wandered  off  after  Gertrude,  you  were  so 
long  coming  home.  Margaret,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  •  But 
you  look  tired." 

Two  children  came  out  to  meet  them,  also.  Anna  had 
told  Margaret  of  their  arrival.  They  were  Julia  and  Fanny 
Haviland,  little  cousins  of  Anna,  whose  mother  had  gone  to 
the  south.  Mrs.  Wilkie  had  begged  they  should  pass  the 
winter  with  her.  They  were  bright,  pleasant  girls,  and 
Anna  was  to  have  the  principal  care  of  them. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

MARGARET  was,  through  the  evening,  in  a  different  vein 
from  any  which  the  Wilkies  had  seen,  since  she  had  been 
with  them.  Partly  her  talk  with  Anna,  partly  what  had 
followed  with  Mr.  Newstead,  had  led  to  this. 

He  had  joined  her,  laughing,  and  in  high  spirits;  his 
face,  always  bright,  now  seemed  particularly  cheerful.  "  I 
have  had  a  grand  time  with  the  boys  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  he  added,  with  mock  vexation ;  "  to  you  I 
must  talk  English.  I  have  had  a  very  clever  frolic  with 
the  boys  !  " 

"  Your  English  is  worse  than  your  Yankee,"  replied 
Margaret,  laughing;  "and  do  not  set  me  down,  —  am  I  not 
a  teacher  of  the  high  school  at  Wilton  ?  —  do  not  set  me 
down,  I  say,  as  an  entire  ignoramus,  wherever  a  new  dia 
lect  is  concerned.  Did  not  a  girl  come  to  me,  this  morning, 
as  I  entered  the  school-room,  to  say  that  accidentally  her 
little  brother  had  thrown  a  rock  through  the  window  ?  and 
did  not  I  understand,  at  once,  that  no  miracle  had  been  'com- 


IN   AMERICA.  165 

mitted'?  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Newstead,  I  am  learning 
Yankee  very  fast.  Now,  *  du  tell '  where  you  have  been, 
and  where  you  had  your  'real  good  time.' " 

"  Half  of  it  has  been  in  the  droll  intercourse  between  little 
David  there,  —  your  compatriot,  —  and  the  tribe  of  my 
compatriots,  the  boys  whom  you  hear  yonder.  They  *  get 
along '  very  well  together,  —  are  very  kind  to  each  other ; 
but  their  pronunciations  and  idioms  amuse  each  other  infi 
nitely.  Our  people,  you  know,  are  fixed  in  the  notion  that 
we  speak  the  true  English,  and  you  of  England,  a  dialect 
thereof.  I  never  saw  a  man  more  indignant  than  when  I 
repeated  to  him  the  phrase  of  an  English  woman,  who  had 
told  me  her  '  master '  (meaning  her  husband)  was  sick.  My 
friend  cried  out,  '  That  may  do  in  England ;  but  it  will  not 
do  here ! ' " 

Margaret  laughed.  "  I  have  heard  the  phrase,"  said  she. 
"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  0,  I  reminded  him,  — he  was  engaged,  at  the  time,  to 
pretty  Mary  Bruce,  —  that  he  had  written  a  love-letter  to 
his  mistress,  that  morning.  I  told  him  there  was  only  a 
change  of  idiom,  and  he  was  mollified." 

"  It  is  very  curious  to  me,"  said  Margaret,  "  both  to  see 
the  constant  interest  which  people  here  take  in  England, 
and  then  to  see  how  their  national  feeling,  such  as  I  see 
exists,  varies  from  what  I  have  known  at  home,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  so  many  foreigners  as  are  here.  I  do  not  feel 
myself  nearly  so  much  a  foreigner  as  I  think  an  American 
would,  still  more  a  Frenchman,  in  my  old  home." 

"  In  a  Frenchman's  case,"  said  he,  "  of  course,  there 
would  be  difference  of  language." 

"  I  will  waive  that  case,  then,"  replied  Margaret.  "  What 
I  mean  to  say  is,  that  it  is  singular  to  see  how  many  nation 
alities  are  quietly  fusing  into  this,  which  you  call  Yankee- 


166  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

dom.  I  have  not  heard  any  one  but  you  use  the  word, 
and  I  own  I  am  a  little  shy  of  your  dialect." 

Mr.  Newstead  smiled  again,  and  said,  "You  have  some 
reason  to  be.  I  speak  a  language  of  my  own. 

"  Yes,"  he  added,  "  I  suppose  we  are,  here  in  the  coun 
try,  more  tolerant  of  strangers  than  are  the  country  popula 
tions  of  most  other  regions.  We  are,  indeed,  only  strangers, 
ourselves,  of  two  centuries'  growth.  In  the  large  towns  of 
the  seaboard,  there  is  more  jealous  political  feeling." 

"  I  came  to  think  of  this,"  said  Margaret,  "  first,  as  being 
an  English  woman  myself.  Then,  I  have  already  met,  in 
Wilton.  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish,  who  work  in  the  facto 
ries." 

"  Irish,  I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Newstead. 

"  And  to-day,  as  I  became  rather  less  frightful  to  some  of 
the  girls,  they  were  standing  round  my  table,  talking  to 
me ;  and  it  appeared  that  one  of  them,  whose  olive  com 
plexion,  and  dark  hair,  had  attracted  my  notice  before,  was 
born  in  Canada.  She  said  her  French  name  was  Marie 
D'Herbaut;  but  here  they  call  her  Mary  Smith." 

"  That  is  a  way  the  Canadians  have.  I  am  glad  you 
have  met  one  of  the  more  intelligent  of  them.  They  are  a 
gentle,  polite  race." 

"  Here,  again,  is  the  same  thing,  —  this  boy,  fresh  from 
Leeds,  chestnutting  with  your  boys,  almost  as  if  he  had 
been  here  half  his  life.  And  if  the  Swiss  boy,  whose  name 
I  never  remember,  whom  Uncle  Andrew  calls  David's  pre 
decessor,  is  not  with  them,  it  is  an  accident,  made  good, 
doubtless,  by  the  presence  of  the  little  black  boy,  from 
Alexandria." 

"  And  how  does  this  variety  of  race  affect  you  ?  Is  it 
nothing  but  curious  to  you,  —  only  strange  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  it  seriously,"  said  she.     "  It  was 


IN    AMERICA.  167 

the  French  girl,  —  rather  a  favorite  among  the  others, — 
who  made  me  think  of  it  at  all." 

"  Yes ;  now,  to  me,  it  is  an  old,  favorite  observation.  It 
makes  me  happy  to  think  of;  it  makes  me  proud,  not  for 
the  present,  but  the  future.  Between  all  these  races  there 
is  a  native  constitutional  difference,  undoubtedly.  Now,  in 
the  old  way,  —  in  your  English,  reserved  way,  —  anyone 
race,  which  has  seized  on  the  ground,  holds  it  with  a  bull 
dog  tenacity.  Strangers  come  in  at  their  peril,  or  as  a 
favor; — as,  in  England,  Irish  reapers  in  harvest,  Spital- 
field  weavers  in  persecution;  —  and  the  master  race,  in  that 
old  way,  looks  down  on  the  one  or  the  other,  just  as  our 
Southerners,  and  many  of  us,  look  down  on  the  blacks. 
What  follows  ?  Why  this,  I  grant :  that  the  master  race 
gets  the  best  fruit  possible  from  its  own  stock;  but  it 
never  gets  bud,  blossom,  fruit  or  flavor,  of  any  other  variety, 
as  it  might  have  done,  if  it  only  had  been  willing  to  bud 
them  in." 

"  That  is  a  good  figure,"  said  Margaret.  "  You  think 
England,  —  or  a  nation  in  the  old  way,  —  is  like  a  good  old 
garden  rose.  You  think  America  is  a  Modern  Standard, 
which  shows,  at  the  same  time,  pink,  white,  yellow,  and 
crimson,  in  bloom  —  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  shows  them  all  summer,  too  ;  —  for  I  can  bud 
into  my  old  stocks,  French  Perpetuals,  and  Remontant  Isle 
of  Bourbons,  and  other  long-lasting  varieties.  Mind  me  ;  I 
own,  that,  in  this  special  case,  your  good  old  garden  rose,  — 
thanks  to  a  thousand  years'  growth,  —  is  stronger  and  more 
magnificent  in  its  present  than  is  my  budded  standard; 
but  I  am  proud  of  our  future.  What,  indeed,  is  your  own 
England,  but  a  nation,  which  is  now  the  lord  of  Europe, 
because,  centuries  ago,  in  God's  Providence,  she  budded 
together,  somehow  or  other,  Celts,  Angles,  Saxons,  Danes, 


168  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

and  other  Normans ;  and  has  never  tried  to  work  along  as 
a  single  race,  —  a  river  with  one  fountain,  and  with  no  sup 
plying  streams  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  it  is  a  cable  tightly  twisted, 
instead  of  one  single  strand." 

"  Precisely.  And  why  not,  as  the  rope-makers  do,  twist 
in  new  material,  as  you  walk  along  ?  " 

"  And,  here,  the  colors  of  the  strands  are  still  quite  dis 
tinct." 

"  Yes,  for  a  little  while ;  but  a  generation  or  two  removes 
the  outward  aspect,  the  language,  the  complexion,  and  so 
on.  But  I  am  fond  of  tracing  the  inner  quality  of  the 
strand  a  great  while  longer.  I  study  it  in  our  public  men ; 
as  General  Jackson's  Irish  blood,  Mr.  Van  Buren's  Dutch 
blood.  You  can  see  the  French  Huguenot  sparkle  out  in 
some  of  our  Northern  men  now  in  Congress;  and  an 
occasional  Scotch  tinge,  again,  in  the  warmest,  most  vivid 
Southron  there." 

"  It  is  a  glorious  destiny,  this  of  yours,"  said  she,  "  to 
receive  these,  the  waifs  and  strays  of  all  races,  and  bind 
them  together." 

"That  they  all  may  be  one,"  said  Mr.  Newstead,  rever 
ently.  "  '  E  Pluribus  Unum '  has  a  religious  lesson  for  me, 
whenever  I  see  it." 

"  That  is  your  national  motto." 

"  Yes,  nominally  expressing  the  confederation  of  States 
merely.  But  let  it  express  this  great  God-given  destiny  of 
America,  —  that  she  find  the  best  waifs,  —  the  best  strays,  — 
and  show  absolutely,  that  when  God  made  races  different, 
he  made  them  so,  that  they  might  the  more  closely  twist 
into  each  other,  sustain  each  other,  strengthen  each  other." 

They  walked  on,  in  silence.  Margaret  was  really  touched 
by  his  enthusiasm.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  before  that 


IN   AMERICA.       ;,  169 

her  adopted  land  had,  as  yet,  any  office  but  one  purely  phys 
ical,  —  the  sending  bread  to  the  hungry,  and  timber  to  the 
ship-builders.  But  this  idea  of  a  common,  untried  ground, 
where  all  races  might  help,  charmed  her; — the  feeling 
that,  though  she  was  an  English  woman,  she  had  none  the 
less  a  position,  and  a  "  mission,"  in  America,  than  an  Ameri 
can  girl  born,  was  grateful  to  her,  —  it  brushed  away  some 
thing  of  the  feeling  of  exile.  And,  after  a  few  minutes,  she 
took  up,  enthusiastically,  the  line  of  thought  Mr.  Newstead 
had  opened  on.  She  thanked  him  for  this  comfort  he  had 
given  her.  She  contrasted  the  beautiful  side,  the  poetical 
side,  of  this  vision  of  pacification  and  union  among  races, 
with  the  best  poetry,  the  most  vivid  romance  possible,  under 
the  warlike  view,  the  jealous  view,  between  race  and  race. 
He  told  her  the  history  of  the  different  emigrations,  Cavalier 
and  Roundhead ;  —  French,  Spanish,  Dutch,  Swedish,  and 
African;  and,  more  lately,  French,  Irish,  German,  Nor 
wegian,  and  Canadian.  He  pointed  out  to  her  traces  of 
their  various  influences;  and  she  again  recurred,  with  enthu 
siasm,  to  the  text  he  had  quoted,  "that  they  all  may  be 
one."  He  reminded  her,  then,  that  the  figure  of  budding, 
which  they  begun  with,  was  Paul's,  and  she  repeated  the 
passage  on  the  grafting  of  the  wild  olive-trees. 

"  That  is,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  the  Gospel  description  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven  upon  earth,  —  '  that  men  may  be  one.' 
And,  as  you  say,  a  blessing,  indeed,  to  find  that  God  has,  at 
last,  called  into  being  a  land,  where  prejudices  of  race  must 
die, —  are  now  fast  dying;  and  that  the  old  system  of 
disunion  is  about  to  prove  the  best  system  of  union.  And  I 
am  glad,"  he  said,  "  if  I  can  unselfishly  be  glad,  that  I  live 
in  that  land." 

"  Did  you  ever  read  D'Israeli's  Tancred  ?  "  asked  Marga 
ret.  "Your  Crusade,"  —  and  she  smiled,  —  "will  hardly 
15 


170  ^MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

recognize  his  favorite  element  of  purity  of  blood,  —  of  a  race 
uncontaminate,  of  which  he  talks  so  much." 

" No,  indeed !"  cried  he;  "God  knows  that  it  will  not! 
That  is  the  strangest  assumption !  If  the  Jews,  who,  he 
says,  are  an  untainted  race,  had  shown  any  power  propor 
tional  to  this  singleness  of  their  blood,  in  these  eighteen 
centuries,  something  might  come  of  it.  No ;  the  very  ele 
ment, —  the  very  point  of  my  movement  which  interests  me, 
—  is,  that  all  the  promises,  all  the  signs  of  the  times,  point 
to  that  wonderful  Jerusalem,  to  the  wonderful  land  around 
it,  —  the  geographical  centre  of  the  continents,  —  as  being, 
also,  the  point  of  union  of  all  the  nations.  There  is  the 
point  they  look  to  '  from  the  North,  from  the  South,  from, 
the  East,  from  the  West.'  The  old  Crusaders  understood 
this,  but  tried,  in  their  way,  to  bring  about  the  New  Jerusa 
lem,  by  seizing  the  centre  of  the  thought  of  Christendom 
by  arms !  Fought  for  the  Prince  of  Peace !  Now,  we  have 
come  to  see  that  fighting  advances  nothing;  but  since  all 
Christendom  is  one,  in  its  love  of  Christ,  —  as  you  cannot 
tear  that  love  from  any  Christian  heart,  of  whatever  sect  or 
language,  —  as,  whether  they  own  it  or  deny  it,  there  is  this 
same  spirit  in  them  all,  of  a  love  of  him  and  his,  —  as  the 
Christian  church  is  one  thus,  though  its  leaders  try  to  prove 
it  many,  —  how  glorious  the  enterprise,  to  facilitate,  at  Jeru 
salem  itself,  the  brotherly  love  of  all  Christendom;  to  receive 
there  the  pilgrims  of  all  creeds ;  to  send  thence  glad  tidings 
to  the  hearty  of  all  languages ;  to  show,  there,  in  that  central 
city,  of  which  every  heart  through  Christendom  thinks,  at 
least,  every  day,  that  the  Christian  Church  is  one,  though 
of  many  members  !  Many  members  ! "  he  added,  fairly  in 
reverie  now;  "yes;  infinitely  many.  God's  way  is  that. 
No  two  leaves  on  a  tree  the  same,  though  there  is  one  law 


IN   AMERICA.  171 

in  all.  No  two  churches  the  same, — no  two  Christians  the 
same ;  but  this  one  same  life  in  all ! " 

Margaret  was  startled  at  this  little  discourse  of  Mr.  New- 
stead's.  She  was  startled,  for  two  reasons.  First,  because, 
in  all  that  had  passed  between  them  this  afternoon,  she  had 
been  noticing  his  .earnest  devotional  feeling,  and  saw,  in  all 
that  he  said,  a  warm  Christian  feeling ;  and  she  had,  before, 
from  some  of  his  reckless,  gay,  intellectual  speculation,  taken 
the  impression  that  he  was  sceptical  and  faithless.  What 
he  now  said  clearly  was  hearty.  It  was  no  sudden  out 
burst.  And  so  her  first  startled  feeling  was,  that  she  had 
been  doing  great  injustice  to  a  man,  who,  though  eccentric, 
was  as  religious  a  man  as  she  had  seen.  Then,  again,  she 
was  startled  at  the  easy  way  in  which  he  had  passed  on, 
from  their  speaking  of  the  unity  in  diversity  of  different 
races,  to  speak  of  a  kindred  unity  in  diversity  of  various 
sects.  She  was  afraid  that,  in  her  enthusiasm  for  the  gener 
ous  future  of  America,  she  might  have  committed  herself  to 
an  approval  of  his  view  of  this  generous  future  of  the  Church 
of  Christ.  And,  although  she  could  not  herself  see,  just 
now,  the  weak  point  in  his  enthusiastic  statement  of  that 
future,  yet  she  felt  quite  confident  that  her  uncle,  whom  she 
still  regarded,  as  he  had  bade  her,  a  better  guide  than  her 
own  conscience,  would  be  sorry,  very  sorry,  to  have  her 
give  any  assent  to  such  a  proposal  as  that. 

To  put  him  on  his  guard,  —  at  least,  to  define  her  posi 
tion,  —  she  said,  after  another  pause  : 

"I  asked  Anna,  just  now,  if  she  had  never  wished  that, 
on  the  last  day,  all  those  whom  she  most  loved  might  be 
gathered  together,  in  one  and  the  same  Church,  uttering  the 
same  confession  of  faith.  I  see  I  need  not  ask  you." 

"  No ;"  said  he,  perfectly  seriously  now,  and  weighing  his 
words  carefully  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  answered  that  ques- 


172  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

tion  before  you  told  me  of  it.  I  think  I  need  not  ask  you 
what  Anna  said.  I  know  her  way  of  thinking.  I  have 
often  talked  to  her  of  such  things,  —  nay,  of  that  thing,  — 
myself." 

Perhaps  Margaret  had  a  feeling  that  his  care  in  speaking, 
so  evident  was  it,  rose  from  a  feeling  of  doubt  in  this  very 
question.  He  might  be  more  sensitive  as  to  division  in 
Christendom  than  he  had  seemed.  She  thought,  then,  to 
follow  up  her  advantage,  by  saying,  more  positively  than 
before,  — 

"  There  must  be  truth  somewhere.  God  does  not  want 
any  one  of  his  elect  to  live  in  error.  How  can  that  be  a 
church,  or  a  member  of  a  church,  which  has  not  the  whole 
truth  ?  And  two  churches  which  have  the  whole,  they  must 
be  alike,  —  must  be  the  same." 

Mr.  Newstead  said  nothing,  as  they  walked  on. 

Margaret  broke  the  silence :  —  "Is  it  not  so,  Mr.  New- 
stead?" 

"  Miss  Percival,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  not  compel  me  to  an 
argument.  I  am  convinced  that  your  conclusion  is  wholly 
unsound.  Two  things,  made  up  from  just  the  same  ele 
ments,  are  not  necessarily  alike,  or  the  same.  Water  is  not 
ice,  though  made  of  the  same  materials.  But  I  will  not 
illustrate,  more  than  argue.  This  point  I  will  not  argue 
with  you." 

"Why?"  said  Margaret,  a  little  hurt;  "are  women  so 
weak, then  ? " 

"  Do  not  say  that.     You  know  I  do  not  think  so." 

"So  strong,  then?" 

"  Since  you  press  me,"  said  he,  "  I  will  frankly  answer 
you,  that  I  will  not  argue  this  question  with  you.  I  am 
even  sorry  that  we  have  come  to  the  edge  of  an  argument 
upon  it. 


IN    AMERICA.  173 

"  When  you  first  came  here,  I  knew  your  principles  on 
the  matter  of  discussion  of  theological  subjects.  I  knew 
that  you  had  been  taught,  I  knew  that  you  believed,  that  a 
layman  or  laywoman  had  no  right  to  discuss  such  matters. 
I  knew  that  you  thought  that  such  matters  should  be  left  to 
the  ordained  teachers  of  the  Church.  I  knew  you  were 
anxious  to  leave  argument  on  such,  to  them.  I  resolved, 
therefore,  the  first  night  I  saw  you,  that  I  would  never  tempt 
you,  that  you  should  never  tempt  me,  into  such  discussion. 
With  your  uncle,  I  would  break  a  hundred  lances,  gladly. 
But  while  you  held  the  ground,  which  I  knew  you  had  been 
led  to,  by  a  hard  experience,  and  by  his  directions,  I  knew 
that  it  would  be  ungentlernanly,  wrong,  to  goad  you  into 
discussion  which  you  felt  that  you  ought  not  entertain. 

"  I  have  kept  my  resolution.  When  I  have  met  you,  I 
have  taken  pains  to  keep  the  conversation  off  such  themes. 
I  dare  say  you  have  thought  me  frivolous,  perhaps  careless, 
about  them." 

Margaret  felt  her  own  blush ;  but  he  did  not  see  it. 

"  I  have  talked  of  results,  instead  of  principles,  —  of 
Christian  operations,  instead  of  this  great  Christian  spirit, 
or  rather  spirit  of  Christ,  (for  that  is  simpler  language,) 
behind  them.  In  the  external  realities  of  Christianity,  I 
knew  we  should  agree.  I  would  not  argue  about  the  points 
of  variance,  because  I  knew  you  thought  you  ought  not. 

"Am  I  excused?" 

"  Surely,"  said  Margaret,  "  surely ;  and  I  ought  to  thank 
you  for  being  so  considerate  of  a  stranger." 

And  yet,  as  she  spoke,  she  was  a  little  perplexed,  perhaps 
pained,  to  think,  now,  for  the  first  time,  that  she  must  be 
regarded,  because  never  ordained,  as  so  far  an  inferior 
being,  that  she  had  no  right  to  hold  any  conversation  on 
her  favorite  themes,  excepting  that -of  positive  statement  or 
15* 


174  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

of  rhapsody.  To  sacrifice  the  pleasure  of  argument,  had 
been  to  her,  while  it  was  voluntary,  and  her  own  act,  a 
piece  of  self-renunciation  such  as  a  Christian  woman  could 
well  bear.  And,  as  those  who  have  read  her  earlier  life 
know,  she  had  made  that  self-sacrifice,  and  been  proud  of 
it.  But  this  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  felt  that  her 
severance  from  discussion  was  not  to  be  merely  her  own 
act.  Here,  in  the  exact  theory,  too,  which  she  had  trained 
herself  to,  she  was  set  aside  from  it,  lifted  up  and  put 
away,  as  a  meddling  child  from  that  which  it  ought  not 
interfere  with.  There  was  no  self-sacrifice ;  and  her  pride 
was  wounded.  She  tried  to  struggle  against  that  feeling 
of  pain. 

But  something  deeper  than  her  pride  was  wounded. 
Margaret  was  too  humble  a  Christian,  now,  not  to  have 
healed  that  wound.  She  saw  that  Mr.  Newstead  was  not 
to  blame.  He  had  acted  kindly,  honestly.  She  had  forced 
out  his  explanation.  To  have  done  anything  else  than  he 
had  done,  would  have  been  to  repeat  Father  Andrea.  She 
did  not  understand,  herself,  why  she  was  pained  so  deeply. 

Perhaps  her  woman's  feeling  was  hurt,  that  her  sex  was 
shut  out  from  any  duty  but  that  of  reception  of  religious 
truth,  by  the  theory  on  which  Mr.  Newstead  was  acting. 

Perhaps  it  was  her  human  nature,  —  the  feeling  of  every 
child  of  God  into  whom  he  has  breathed  his  Spirit.  Per 
haps  this  protested  against  the  declaration  that  it  was  only 
made  to  receive,  without  inquiry,  without  testing  or  tasting. 
And  so  it  was  that  another  pause  ensued,  in  this 
strangely  broken  walk.  They  could  hear  behind  them  the 
laughing  voice  of  David  Lees,  as  he  described  his  monkey 
to  Anna,  —  they  could  fancy  Anna's  good-natured  replies, 
—  but  they  walked  on,  both,  thinking  scarcely  of  these 
things.  Mr.  Newstead  let  down  the  two  lower  bars  of  the 


IN    AMERICA.  175 

fence,  as  they  came  to  the  Convers  pasture,  and  Margaret 
stooped  under  the  upper  bars,  and  walked  on.  They  crossed 
the  pasture,  side  by  side.  He  took  her  hand,  as  she  jumped 
over  Uncle  Andrew's  stile,  into  the  Marjorin  lane ;  and  with 
his  help,  she  sprung  down,  just  acknowledging  the  act  with 
a  word,  and  they  walked  on.  She  was  running  through 
the  line  of  unexpected  thought  we  have  hinted  at.  It  was 
not  till,  on  coming  out  of  the  lane  into  the  Factory  Road, 
they  saw  the  house,  scarce  ten  minutes  from  them,  that  he 
again  broke  the  silence. 

"If  we  knew  each  other  less,  I  would  have  made  an 
effort  to  talk,  Miss  Margaret.  But  silence  is  a  privilege  of 
friendship.  I  have  been  thinking,  not  of  the  argumenta 
tive  side  of  this  matter,  but  of  its  pleasing  side,  —  its  pic 
turesque  side,  —  its  harmonious  side.  Let  me  talk  to  you 
'of  that." 

Margaret  was  glad  there  was  any  side  but  argument. 
She  wished  there  was  no  argument,  but  saved  herself  before 
she  said  so.  And  she  simply  asked  him  to  explain  what 
he  meant. 

«  Well !  "  said  he.  "  (Yankee  again,  —  that  Well.)  Well ! 
I  do  not  argue,  —  I  only  suppose.  Suppose  that  it  were 
right,  —  God's  will,  —  that  Christians  should  live,  not  in 
uniformity,  but  in  unity  !  " 

Margaret  was  a  little  startled  to  see  that  the  question  was 
made  to  lie  between  these  two  words.  But  she  knew  he 
meant  no  argument  in  them,  and  she  let  them  pass. 

"  Suppose  this,"  he  continued,  "  and  how  magnificent  the 
enginery  of  the  cross  appears  !  Here  are  these  lonely  men, 
who  sometimes  settle  down  in  the  edge  of  a  township  here, 
reading  their  Bibles  to  their  children  alone,  because  they 
do  not  fall  in  well  into  any  organization  at  all ;  there  is  that 
magnificent  Pius,  —  magnificent,  though  he  is  afraid,  just 


176  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

now ;  there,  the  gentle  Christians  of  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
repeating,  in  that  soft,  musical  tongue  of  theirs,  un-liturgied 
prayers,  and  un-metred  hymns;  and  then  such  men  as 
your  Hare,  in  all  the  strength  of  faith,  with  all  the  elegance 
of  learning ;  —  it  is  glorious  to  see  God  using  such  different 
tools,  for  one  purpose,  and  another,  and  another,  in  his 
Church ;  —  this  one,  building ;  that  one,  carving :  this  one, 
painting ;  that  one,  gilding  the  glorious  edifice.  For  differ 
ent  duties  he  has  needed  them ;  and  so,  in  different  lan 
guages,  not  only  of  the  lip,  but  of  the  intellect  also,  has  he 
trained  them. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Miss  Percival.  I  will  not  argue,  I 
will  not  state.  But  my  whole  zeal  for  this  plan  of  mine,  — 
which,  when  you  know  it  all,  you  will  not  call  Quixotic,  — 
this  plan  of  going  to  Judea,  to  see  if  there  there  cannot  be 
a  new  impulse  given,  —  if,  in  that  centre,  there  cannot  be 
expression  made  to  all  the  earth  of  the  great  hope  of  Chris 
tian  unity,  —  my  whole  zeal,  as  I  hinted  just  now,  is  in  the 
hope  that  there  one  may  communicate  with  the  Christians 
of  every  land.  Think  of  meeting  one  of  those  grand  St. 
Thomas's  Christians  whom  the  missionaries  found  in  India, 
and  bringing  him  face  to  face,  may  be,  with  Hare,  or  with 
Dr.  Anderson  !  They  would  not  speak  in  the  same  words. 
No !  nor  think  in  the  same  thoughts  !  nor  dogmatize  in  the 
same  confessions!  But  there ,  in  the  Holy  City,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  cross,  no  one  would  care  for  that.  Under 
each  heart,  in  each  heart,  the  same  well-spring  of  life  beat 
ing,  —  what  would  they  care  for  symbols,  formulas,  or  lan 
guages  ? 

"  Such  correspondence  as  one  might  have  from  there ! 
Such  soothings  of  feeling  as  he  might  bring  about  there, 
if  only  these  miserable  physical  obstructions  were  moved 
away,  so  that  the  life-blood  of  the  world  might  come  .and 


IN    AMERICA.  177 

go  again,  through"  what  is,  and  must  be,  its  great  heart, 
Jerusalem  !  It  is  worth  thinking  of,  it  is  worth  living  for,  in 
another  light  than  a  mere  commercial  enterprise,  —  the 
opening  of  Judea  practically  to  the  world !  " 

He  went  on  in  the  same  strain.  His  brilliant  fancy 
sketched  out  different  pictures,  of  cooperation  between  dif 
ferent  members  of  the  Church; — now  it  was  a  nun  from 
France,  and  a  hermit  from  Egypt,  and  a  converted  Austra 
lian,  each  bringing  his  faith  to  view  in  the  dress  of  his 
own  peculiar  traits; — now  an  English  bishop,  and  an 
American  Methodist,  —  a  black,  from  a  Southern  planta 
tion, —  and  a  lady  from  Circassia.  Of  these  imaginary 
parties,  he  was  always  one ;  and  Margaret  noticed  that  he 
never  put  into  the  group  any  one  at  all  like  himself.  She 
said  so  to  him. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  he.  "  This  bouquet  of  instances 
is  for  your  special  gratification.  So  we  throw  out  all  argu 
ment,  and  seek  for  our  purpose,  of  this  moment,  only  beauty. 
I  must  be  in  it,  or  I  should  know  nothing  of  it.  But  having 
one  marigold  in,  excuse  me  from  introducing  other  mari 
golds,  or  even  other  orange-flowers." 

"  The  man  actually  dislikes  uniformity !  "  said  Margaret 
aside  to  Anna,  who  heard  this  last  remark. 

"  So  do  I,  —  a  uniformity  of  marigolds." 

Anna  never  thought  of  the  words  again,  —  but  Margaret 
remembered  them  to  the  end  of  her  life. 

This  was  the  conversation  which  affected  Margaret 
through  the  evening.  She  would,  perhaps,  have  overcome 
the  wound  she  received,  on  finding  that  argument,  or 
thoughtful  conversation  on  religious  subjects,  was  precluded 
to  her  by  the  rule  her  uncle  had  laid  down  for  her,  which 
she  had  lived  out  so  bravely. 

But  Mr.  Newstead  had  broken  another  of  her  pet  idols. 


178  MARGARET    TERCIVAL 

She  had  always  had  the  feeling,  that  around  the  English 
and  the  Koman  church  clustered  all  the  beauty,  all  the 
poetry,  all  the  romance,  of  religion.  She  had  not  meant  to 
rest  on  this  as  important ;  but  she  was  glad  it  was  so.  Dis 
sent  had  nothing  graceful  in  it.  Hester  had  owned  this, 
almost,  to  her ;  and  Margaret,  while  she  could  laugh  at  an 
old  lady  who  took  comfort  in  the  respectability  of  the 
Church  of  England,  had  not  thought  it  wrong  to  be  proud 
of  its  beautiful  associations,  and  had  nursed  in  her  imag 
ination  the  feeling  that  no  other  covenant  could  rival  it  there. 
She  had  even  thought  that  all  Dissenters  admitted  this,  — 
that  they  felt  a  want,  in  their  own  arrangements,  of  a  grat 
ification  of  the  love  of  beauty  and  poetry. 

And,  behold  !  this  was  all  a  piece  of  her  own  self-conceit ! 
Other  people  thought  of  their  forms  of  faith  just  as  she 
thought  of  hers.  Mr.  Newstead  felt  that  his  position,  "  the 
agreement  to  disagree,"  as  she  once  had  heard  him  call  it  to 
Mr.  Wilkie,  was  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  grateful, 
the  most  poetical,  of  any,  —  at  the  same  time  that  he 
thought  it  the  right  position. 

Margaret  was  fairly  provoked  at  the  short-sightedness 
with  which  she  had  always  fancied  her  own  house  the  only 
one  worth  looking  at  in  the  village. 

"  So  silly  !"  said  she,  as  she  went  to  bed, —  "  so  small !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  Episcopal  church  of  which  Mrs.  Wilkie  had 
spoken  to  Margaret,  which  it  had  been  arranged  that  she 
could  attend  on  Sunday,  was  at  Beech  Woods.  From 
Wilton  it  was  not,  of  a  pleasant  day,  an  uncomfortable 


IN    AMERICA.  179 

walk ;  and,  in  case  of  storm  or  snow,  Margaret  was  used  to 
ride  with  the  family  of  an  Englishman,  an  overseer  in  the 
machine-works  at  Wilton. 

When  the  Wilkies  had  brought  her  over  to  their  house, 
to  spend  her  Saturday's  holiday  and  Sunday,  they  always 
arranged  that  Mr.  Fetridge  and  his  wife,  —  he  was  the 
dyer  at  Mr.  Wilkie's  mills,  a  Lancashire  man, — should 
take  Margaret  to  Beech  Woods  on  Sunday  with  them ;  and 
thus,  -through  all  the  autumn,  there  was  not  the  instance  of 
a  single  Sunday  in  which  she  lost  the  ministrations  of  her 
own  Church.  She  missed,  indeed,  and  regretted,  the  public 
service  of  morning  and  evening  prayer,  so  well  provided  at 
home  by  that  Church, —  to  which,  in  her  uncle's  ministry  at 
Alton,  she  was  now  attached  by  a  sacred  habit.  Yet  she 
acquiesced  in  this  deprivation,  here,  —  where  there  was  no 
priest  of  the  Church,  in  Wilton,  with  a  regret  very  different 
from  that  which  she  would  have  felt  at  the  Grove,  when  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Stanley  perpetually  omitted  the  service,  so  solemnly 
enjoined  in  the  Rubrics,  —  on  a  perpetual  implied  plea  that 
he  was  "  reasonably  hindered  "  from  undertaking  it. 

It  happened,  on  Sunday,  that,  with  her  friends,  the  Fet- 
riclges,  she  arrived  at  the  church, —  St  James's  Church,  it  was 
called,  —  half  an  hour  before  the  service  began.  As  she 
alighted  from  the  carriage,  Mr.  Newstead  came  forward  to 
assist  and  greet  her. 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  had  not  begun,  and  he  proposed 
to  her  that  they  should  walk  for  a  few  moments,  before 
entering  the  church.  The  morning  was  fine,  and  Margaret 
readily  assented. 

"  I  have  walked  across  through  the  wood-road,  while  you 
were  driving  round,"  said  he. 

"  Why  did  not  you  tell  us  at  breakfast  that  you  were 
coming  to  church,  —  if,  indeed,  you  are  coming,  now?  " 


180  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  I  am  going  to  church,"  said  Mr.  Newstead ;  "  but  at 
breakfast-tirne  I  did  not  know  it.  I  started  for  my  walk,  — 
for  what  Mr.  Wilkie  says  is  my  bad  habit,  —  what  perhaps 
is  my  bad  habit,  —  of  finding  my  sermons  in  stones." 

"  And  you  thought  better  of  it  ? " 

"  I  thought  otherwise  of  it,  —  better,  perhaps.  Yes,  — 
let  me  say  so,  —  better,  I  think  now.  The  spirit  of  humility 
came  over  me,  Miss  Percival,  —  came,  perhaps,  because  I 
was  in  the  glorious  aisles  of  those  woods,  —  and  I  asked 
myself  whether  I  were,  indeed,  so  much  better  than  other 
men,  that  I  need  not  unite  with  them  in  asking  the  common 
assistance  we  need. 

"  There  !  I  have  been  frank  with  you,  and  that  is  my  con 
fession.  I  left  the  house,  meaning  to  indulge  a  lonely 
reverie.  The  mood  changed,  —  or,  let  me  speak  again  as  I 
feel,  —  God's  spirit  spoke  to  me;  and  I  said,  'I  will  com 
mune  with  other  hearts,  —  I  will  drink  where  others  drink.' 
I  left  my  old  haunt  up  there,  ran  down  through  the  Walton 
ledge,  and  came  across  here  just  before  you." 

Margaret  was  touched  at  his  tender,  serious  way  of  speak 
ing,  —  touched  as  she  had  been  once  before,  at  finding  the 
warm  religious  basis  which  was  the  foundation,  often  badly 
built  upon,  of  his  enthusiastic,  wayward,  moody  life.  She 
was  pleased,  too,  —  more  pleased  than  she  cared  to  say  to 
him,  —  that,  at  such  a  moment,  he  should  have  come  down 
from  his  lonely,  out-door  worship,  to  the  arms,  to  the  ser 
vice,  of  her  dear  Mother  Church.  They  heard  the  first 
stroke  of  the  bells.  In  an  instant  more,  there  swept  up  the 
valley  the  tones  of  the  Wilton  bells ;  and  while  they  listened, 
silent,  they  caught  hardly  a  full  sound,  but  the  intimation 
of  a  sound,  from  those  of  Fairmeadow. 

"  What  exquisite  harmony  !  "  said  Margaret. 

"Yes;    exquisite   indeed!" — and,  after  a  pause,  Mr. 


IN   AMERICA.  181 

Newstead  added,  "  harmony,  not  unison,  Miss  Margaret  ; 
they  are  not  of  the  same  note,  but  only  of  kin  to  each 
other." 

Margaret  was  very  sorry  he  said  this.  He  was,  himself, 
after  he  had  said  it,  because  it  brought  up  that  troubled  con 
versation  of  a  few  days  before,  when  they  had  discussed 
uniformity. 

But  she  did  not  choose  to  be  silenced  merely  by  a  meta 
phor,  and  she  said,  "  I  will  not  argue,  in  the  minute  before 
prayer,  Mr.  Newstead ;  but  surely  I  may  say,  alluding  to 
what  you  allude  to,  that  harmony  is  wholly  different  from 
discord,  —  that  no  Churchman  ever  said  that  the  English 
Church  was  the  only  church,  —  that  there  are  other  apos 
tolic  churches  with  which  she  harmonizes,  and  is  glad  to  do. 
Your  figure  turns  against  yourself.  You  will  own  that  the 
sound  of  these  bells  might  belong  to  such  different  keys, 
that  the  jangle  should  be  odious." 

"  Odious  to  man,  on  earth ;  yes,"  said  he ;  "  but  they  say, 
—  Willis  says,  somewhere,  —  that  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
earth,  everything  comes  up  in  the  key  of  F,  however  it 
started  from  the  earth ;  and  I  doubt  if,  leaving  the  figure, 
God  does  not  know  how  to  hear  all  our  prayers,  so  that  there 
shall  even  be  no  discord,  if  only  the  separate  notes  be  clear 
and  boldly  uttered.  But  I  was  wrong  to  speak  of  such 
things. 

'  0  here,  if  ever,  God  of  love ! 
Let  all  discussion  cease.' 

I  prosify  the  words,  for  I  am  sure  our  clash  of  opinions  is 
never  *  strife  or  hatred.'  " 

"  No,  indeed,  —  how  could  it  be  ? " 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Ross ;  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a  long 
time." 

They  stopped  to  speak  with  Mr.  Ross,  the  minister,  who 
16 


182  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

welcomed  them  both, warmly; — Newstead  with  special  cor 
diality,  as  he  had  a  fear  that  his  warm  enthusiasms  too  often 
led  him  from  the  public  ordinances  of  worship.  A  few 
words  with  the  good  rector  and  his  pleasant  wife  brought 
them  to  the  church,  and  quite  hushed  away  that  ungenial 
feeling,  which  ought  not  to  have  been  taken  into  the  sanc 
tuary. 

It  is  a  pity  that  we  cannot  eradicate  that  uneasy  con 
sciousness  which  is  too  apt  to  hang  around  us,  when  a  friend 
unused  to  our  own  dear  Sunday  home  accompanies  us 
thither.  Almost  every  one  is  tempted,  at  such  a  time,  to 
listen  as  if  for  himself  and  his  stranger  companion ;  — 
and  that  is  indeed  a  well-trained  heart,  which  can  join  in 
hymn  and  prayer,  without  one  occasional  thought  of  the 
unusual  presence  of  another  ;  and  the  intrusion  of  the  ques 
tion,  however  often  forbidden,  whether  he  will  be  as  pleas 
antly  at  home  there  as  one  could  hope  to  have  him.  If 
Margaret  had  herself  been  more  at  home  in  St.  James's 
Church,  she  would  have  better  confronted  this  insidious 
uneasiness.  As  it  was,  however,  Mr.  Newstead's  presence 
at  her  side,  which  she  knew  was  unusual  there,  and  her 
occasional  question  to  herself,  whether  the  glorious  lan 
guage  of  the  Liturgy  spoke  for  him  as  clearly  as  in  times 
of  deep  distress  it  had  spoken  to  her,  so  far  disturbed  her, 
required  so  constant  effort  of  hers  to  drive  them  away,  that, 
when  the  service  was  over,  she  was  well  aware,  —  perhaps 
not  knowing  why,  —  that  it  had  not  been  to  her  the 
same  solace  that  it  often  was.  It  happened  that  Mr.  Ross 
did  not  himself  preach.  There  was  a  stranger  present,  —  a 
gentleman  who  had  labored,  evidently  with  zeal,  in  one  of 
the  agencies  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  for  publication.  His 
own  good  heart  and  faith  were  tender  and  touching ;  but, 
unfortunately,  as  at  the  moment  it  seemed  to  Margaret, 


IN   AMERICA.  183 

there  was  an  occasional  unconscious  intimation  of  his  feel 
ing  that  one  tract,  written  by  a  member  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  was  worth  hundreds  from  any  other  quarter;  an 
intimation  which,  without  caring  then  to  examine  its  grounds, 
she  was  sorry  that  Mr.  Newstead  should  hear. 

When  they  left  the  church,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fetridge  told 
her  that  they  were  unable  to  stay  to  the  evening  service ; 
and  Margaret,  seeing  that  no  convenient  arrangement  could 
be  made  for  her  own  stay,  agreed  to  sacrifice  it  also.  They 
promised  to  overtake  her  in  a  few  minutes,  and  with  Mr. 
Newstead  she  walked  towards  home. 

For  the  reasons  we  have  named,  she  was  afraid  that  he 
might  be  unpleasantly  affected  by  the  devotions  of  the  morn 
ing.  But  it  happened  that  he,  probably  under  the  especial 
influence  which  had  brought  him  there,  had  none  of  the 
disturbed  or  critical  mood  about  him  which  she  had  feared. 
He  had  not  had  her  temptation  ;  and  the  first  words  he  spoke 
were  an  expression  of  pleasure  that  he  had  joined  in  the 
service. 

A  real  relief  this  to  Margaret,  who  felt,  however,  troubled 
the  more,  that  she  had  not  enjoyed  it  as  she  should. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  —  she  said,  —  "I  thought,  —  it  occurred  to 
me,  —  that  the  sermon  might  at  times  shock  your  views." 

"  The  sermon !  why  ?  O !  I  understand  you.  O  no, 
my  dear  Miss  Percival ;  I  will  not  say  I  thought  much  of  it 
at  all,  though  I  did  listen  to  it.  He  was  in  earnest.  What 
he  did,  he  did  it  heartily ;  and,  in  his  way,  did  it  unto  the 
Lord.  I  forgave  him  his  narrownesses,  because  he  did  not 
know  of  them ;  and  I  forgot  them  as  he  uttered  them.  O 
no  !  I  had  given  myself  up  to  the  service.  I  am  always  an 
Episcopalian,  or  a  Catholic,  in  that  when  I  go  to  church,  it 
is  to  pray  in  common  with  other  men,  rather  than  to  listen 
to  others'  thoughts." 


184  MARGARET   PERCIVAL. 

Margaret  felt  rebuked,  and  said  so. 

"  Rebuked  ? "  returned  he,  laughing ;  "  are  we  to  be 
always  at  cross  purposes,  in  our  talk  ?  Why,  what  can  be 
more  natural,  Miss  Percival,  since  the  chief  danger  of  a 
written  service  is  the  danger  rising  from  its  familiar  repe 
tition,  than  that,  on  a  particular  occasion,  its  public  use 
should  impress  a  stranger,  unaccustomed  to  its  public  use,  as 
on  that  particular  occasion  it  does  not  impress  you  ?  I  went 
to  the  service  with  every  possible  advantage,  apart  from 
mood  of  mind  and  proper  preparation,  —  in  what  place,  I 
dare  not  boast.  I  had  not  joined  in  your  service  in  public 
these  two  or  three  years." 

Margaret  felt  the  force  of  what  he  said,  though  it  was  a 
view  of  the  Liturgy  which  she  did  not  often  permit  herself 
to  take ;  and  she  gave,  therefore,  no  spoken  assent  to  his 
suggestion. 

"  I  miss,"  she  said,  as  they  walked  on,  "  some  of  our  forms 
of  response,  —  the  clerk,  or  the  responses  of  a  choir,  in  parts 
of  the  service.  O  !  I  wish  you  could  hear  our  service  as  I 
have  heard  it !  " 

"  I  shall  join  in  it,"  said  he,  more  carefully,  "  I  hope, 
before  long,  in  one  of  your  cathedrals.  On  the  whole, 
though,  there  is  a  similarity  here  to  home,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  and  she  paused ;  "  I  was  aware, 
to-day,  of  an  uncomfortable  feeling,  which  could  not  have 
overtaken  me  till  I  knew  the  people,  —  in  observing  how 
many  strangers  go  to  make  up  this  congregation.  I  see  a 
great  many  English  people  ;  and  these  families  from  New 
York  are  not  to  the  manor  born.  There  is  not  the  feeling 
which,  at  Staunton  even,  the  presence  of  all  the,  —  of  all 
the  old  families  of  the  place  gave. 

"  But  stop  ;  you  may  not  understand  me.  Do  not  think  I 
have  that  silly  Mrs.  Bruce's  feeling,  that  I  miss  the  *  respect- 


IN    AMERICA.  185 

ability  "  of  the  neighborhood.  These  people  are,  in  God's 
eyes,  as  respectable  as  Governor  Briggs,  or  as  my  father. 
But,  cannot  you  understand  the  want  of  the  indigenous  feel 
ing  which  at  home  seemed  to  separate  us  from  the  Dis 
senters  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  can,"  said  Mr.  Newstead  ;  but  he  did  not  care 
to  press  the  subject  further.  He  spoke  again  of  the  Liturgy, 
where  he  and  Margaret  were  surely  on  common  ground. 

"  If  you  prize  it  as  you  do,"  said  she,  "  how  much  more 
would  you  enjoy  it,  how  much  more  would  you  gain  from, 
it,  if  you  were  familiar  with  it !  " 

"  If  I  were  familiar  with  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  said  you  had  not  heard  it  for  two  years." 

"  0 !  you  misunderstand  me ;  there  is  no  book,  I 
believe,  with  which  I  am  more  familiar.  It  lies  on  my  bed 
room  table,  with  my  other  books  of  devotion,  a  very  dear 
friend.  I  said  I  had  not  heard  it  used  in  public.  I  meant 
in  church.  Why,  we  read  the  morning  service,  at  prayers, 
at  Mr.  Wilkie's,  yesterday  !  Pray  do  not  think  that  I  have 
not  prized  it,  studied  it,  and  been  blessed  by  it !  " 

Margaret  was  touched  by  his  serious  earnestness.  "  What 
are  your  books  of  devotion,  —  your  '  table  books '  ? "  said  she. 

"  O,  they  vary.  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  as  if  there  were 
a  fixed  series  there.  To-day,  you  would  find  there  the 
Lutheran  Hymn-book,  a  Greek  Service-book  which  I  prize 
very  highly,  Furness'  Family  Prayers,  John  Sterling's 
Hymns,  Jeremy  Taylor,  your  Liturgy,  and  Thomas  a 
Kempis.  But  I  do  not  mean  that  I  read  from  all  of  these, 
daily ;  sometimes  one  is  not  opened  for  several  days.  Then 
some  one  will  say  something  which  will  send  me  to  another, 
and  add  it  to  the  little  company." 

Margaret  suppressed  a  sigh,  as  she  remembered  her  dear 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  her  uncle's  prohibition.  There  was 
16* 


186  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

^ 

something  very  attractive  in  this  Catholic,  side  by  side, 
position  of  such  books,  if  only  it  were  right  to  read  them 
all.  But  she  remembered  her  uncle's  warning  words, —  "  I 
wish,  Margaret,  you  would  not  ask  the  Countess  for  such 
books  as  these ;  "*  and  tried  to  solace  herself  by  remember 
ing  that  of  the  seven  books  which  Mr.  Newstead  had 
named,  she  had  a  right  to  use  two,  and  perhaps  three. 
About  Sterling's  Hymns  she  was  not  sure ;  she  did  not  know 
whether  Sterling  wrote  them  before  he  left  the  Church  of 
England,  or  after.  She  could  ask  Mr.  Ross,  and  she 
resolved  to. 

The  Fetridges  overtook  them,  and  she  parted  from  Mr. 
Newstead,  to  ride  home  with  them. 

When,  in  the  afternoon,  Anna  and  her  father  were  start 
ing  to  go  to  meeting,  they  had  supposed  that  Margaret 
would  not  care  to  accompany  them,  and  they  had  not  pro 
posed  it.  But  a  real  longing  came  over  her  to  break  the 
one  piece  of  formality  which  seemed  to  hang  over  their 
close  love,  now  that  she  could  break  it  without  any  sacrifice 
of  principle.  Even  her  uncle  would  not  have  disapproved 
of  her  joining  in  their  worship,  when  she  was,  as  now,  prov 
identially  hindered  from  her  own  form  of  devotion.  It 
seemed  so  repulsive,  too,  and  so  timid,  to  stay  at  home,  as 
if  she  distrusted  them  or  theirs.  All  these  reasonings  came, 
superadded  to  the  impulsive  longing  which  we  speak  of,  and 
induced  her  to  look  at  it,  as  Mr.  Newstead  had  so  reverently 
looked  at  a  like  longing  in  the  morning,  as  a  prompting  of 
the  Spirit,  too  tender  to  be  rejected.  She  proposed,  then, 
to  accompany  them,  and  her  proposal  was  very  gladly 
assented  to. 

At  the  door  of  the  meeting-house,  they  met  Mr.  New- 

*  Margaret  Percival,  ji.f  151, 


IN   AMERICA.  187 

stead.  He  smiled  and  nodded,  as  in  the  morning-,  to  Mar 
garet,  as  he  joined  their  party ;  and  entered  the  porch  with 
them,  with  a  conscious  look,  which  implied  that  he  knew  she 
would  be  pleased  to  see  him  keeping  to  his  impulse  or  reso 
lution.  They  passed  in  to  the  large,  somewhat  old-fash 
ioned  church,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  throng  of  cheerful 
looking  people,  who  were  pouring  in  from  the  different 
neighboring  houses,  where  they  had  been  passing  the  hour 
and  a  half  of  intermission.  A  good  many  people  were  in 
the  church  who  had  spent  the  short  intermission  there,  their 
homes  being  distant,  passing  to  and  fro,  from  pew  to  pew,  in 
conversation  with  each  other,  or  with  Mr.  Harrod,  or  per 
haps  reading  from  the  books  of  the  church  library,  or  the 
various  tracts  which  were  distributed  almost  every  week 
among  the  book  clubs,  and  pamphlet  clubs,  which  were 
organized  in  the  parish.  The  whole  aspect  of  the  place  was 
cheerful,  rather  than  imposing.  There  was  a  world  of 
windows,  in  all  parts  of  the  house,  — windows  where  people 
could  look  out,  and  where  they  could  not ;  wherever  there 
was  space,  there  was  a  window.  On  the  west  side,  these 
windows  were  closed  with  green  blinds ;  but  on  every  other 
side,  they  were  uncurtained  and  unshaded,  and  through 
their  numerous  small  panes  a  flood  of  light  poured  into  the 
whole  building.  By  the  law  of  contrast,  Margaret's  thoughts 
at  once  reverted  to  the  Cathedral  at  Rouen  where  she  first 
saw  the  Countess  Novera.  The  light,  flooding  the  house 
here,  was  so  different  an  emblem  from  the  shade,  the 
gloom,  of  the  cathedral ;  —  the  simplicity  of  these  walls,  so 
different  from  the  exquisite  elaborate  ornament  there !  A 
choir  of  singers,  without  an  instrument,  were  singing,  and 
singing  well,  "  Rise,  my  soul,  and  stretch  thy  wings,"  as 
they  entered  the  house  ;  and  the  tones  of  music  recalled  to 
Margaret  the  solemn  strains  of  that  majestic  organ.  These 


188  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

singers  were  singing  such  tunes  as  themselves  selected,  as 
they  waited  for  the  regular  service  to  begin.  So  different, 
that  easy  home-feeling  of  theirs,  from  the  rigid  obedience  to 
system  with  which  every  part  of  the  Roman  service  went 
on! 

The  congregation,  as  we  have  said,  bore  a  cheerful  air  as 
they  entered,  which  did  not,  however,  comport  ill  with  the 
gravity  which  appeared  on  every  face.  As  the  bell  began 
to  ring,  and  they  found  their  places,  a  smile  of  recognition, 
or  a  glance,  between  family  and  family,  passing  into  the 
pews,  —  widening,  in  the  children,  sometimes,  to  abroad, 
noonday  glare  of  recollection,  —  gave  token  of  an  intimacy, 
a  feeling  of  common  interest,  which  recalled  to  Margaret  a 
rhapsody  which  she  once  heard  from  Arthur  Newstead,  on 
the  value  of  the  word  congregation,  and  the  thing  implied 
in  it.  This  silent  interlinking  of  family  with  family  well 
enough  supplied  the  want  of  the  sombre,  especially  reverent 
aspect  of  the  Catholic  worshippers;  who,  as  Margaret 
remembered,  had  glided  in  as  if  they  were  alone.  Two 
vases  of  green-house  flowers,  on  the  communion-table,  were 
the  only  ornaments  of  the  church ;  unless  a  picture  of  Tibe 
rias  and  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  —  a  colored  print,  which  had 
been  arranged  there  for  the  use  of  the  Sunday-school  children, 
and  had  not  been  taken  down,  —  might  be  called  such.  Again 
Margaret's  mind  turned  back  to  the  artificial  flowers  before 
the  candles  in  the  Cathedral.  She  smiled,  to  find  herself 
comparing  thus  small  things  with  great;  it  was  another 
instance  of  the  waywardness  of  fancy,  but  she  felt  that  the 
contrast  had  not  been  amiss.  She  had  not  felt  disturbed, 
while  she  carried  it  on,  by  the  occasional  creaking  of  the  shoes 
of  a  sturdy  boy  coming  in  alone,  or  the  rustling  to  and  fro 
of  the  people,  as  they  passed  into  the  pews,  —  carefully 
studying  that  the  women  should  all  sit  at  one  end,  and  the 
men  at  the  other. 


IN   AMERICA.  189 

The  service  began  by  a  chant.  The  choir  had  finished 
its  own  singing,  as  soon  as  any  considerable  part  of  the 
congregation  had  entered ;  and  a  silence,  more  and  more 
marked,  had  reigned  in  the  church  for  some  minutes,  when, 
without  prelude,  the  voices, —  a  little  harsh,  as  New  Eng 
land  voices  are,  but  well  trained,  —  began,  without  public 
direction  from  the  minister,  to  sing  that  quartet,  from  the 
Stabat  Mater,  with  which  Margaret  had  such  different  asso 
ciations.  They  sang,  however,  not  the  Latin  words,  but 
Mr.  Fox's  paraphrase  :  — 

<'  Jews  were  wrought  to  cruel  madness, 
Christians  fled  in  fear  and  sadness,  — 

Mary  stood  the  cross  beside  ! 
At  its  foot  her  foot  she  planted, 
By  the  dreadful  scene  undaunted, 

Till  the  gentle  Sufferer  died." 

As  they  began,  Margaret  felt  her  blood  running  quicker 
with  the  associations  which  she  had  connected  with  that 
music,  so  bound  up  in  her  thought  was  it  with  Hennings- 
ley  and  the  Countess.  But,  in  a  moment,  this  memory 
passed  away,  —  the  real  religious  influence  of  the  music, 
the  place  and  the  hymn,  came  over  her.  There  was  a  mo 
ment's  silence,  after  the  last  stanzas  of  that -para phrase  :  — 

"And,  when  under  fierce  transgression, 
Goodness  suffers  like  oppression, 

Christ  again  is  crucified  ;  — 
But  if  love  be  there,  true-hearted, 
By  no  grief  or  terror  parted, 

Mary  stands  the  Cross  beside." 

And,  in  this  silence  of  the  sanctuary,  Margaret  was  pos 
sessed  with  the  entire  spirit  of  worship,  and  her  heart  and 
mind  prepared  for  the  duties  of  the  place.  It  was  well  for 


190  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

her,  indeed,  that  in  the  entire  simplicity  of  the  church, 
there  was  no  external  object  to  divert  her  eye. 

The  service  went  on.  The  rapt  silence  of  the  congre 
gation,  as  Mr.  Harrod  read  from  the  Bible,  was  an  index,  at 
least,  of  sympathy  and  attention.  Margaret  did  not  think 
of  it  at  the  moment ;  she  was  not  in  a  critical  mood. 

In  a  church,  she  had  hardly  ever  before  joined  in  an 
extempore  prayer ;  but,  to-day,  her  attention  did  not  wander, 
—  her  fervor  did  not  cool;  —  and  as,  from  moment  to  mo 
ment,  she  found  Mr.  Harrod  expressing,  in  fervent,  earnest 
words,  the  very  thoughts  which  rested  on  her  own  bosom,  — 
as  the  perfect  consciousness  of  the  sympathy  of  those  silent 
persons  all  around  her  swept  over  her,  —  she  had  not  even  a 
strange  feeling,  at  the  peculiarity  of  the  form  of  worship. 
All  God's  children,  —  it  would  be  strange,  rather,  if  some  of 
his  words  of  devotion  had  not  spoken  for  her.  At  times, 
she  found  that  her  thought,  and  her  prayer,  had  wandered 
from  his.  He  had  prayed  God  to  be  with  those  who  were 
separated  from  the  congregation  by  the  distance  of  their 
travellings ;  and  her  mind  flew  back  to  George,  to  her  uncle, 
and  she  was  mingling  her  own  petitions  for  those  so  dear  to 
her,  with  this  great  chorus  which  rose  from  the  still  lips 
all  around  her.  But  she  was  not  pained  to  find  that  her 
thought  had  thus  passed  away;  she  reverted  again  and 
again,  after  such,  her  separate  prayers,  to  take  in,  and  to  join 
in,  the  earnest  words  of  the  minister  ;  and  her  Amen  was  as 
hearty  as  if  it  had  come  at  the  bid  of  familiar  words  of 
intercession. 

Aft§r  one  of  the  prayers,  the  congregation  sat  silent  for  a 
minute,  —  in  the  still  prayer  which  Margaret  had  heard 
Hester  describe  in  the  service  of  the  Friends.  "  How  near 
thou  art  to  me,"  were  Margaret's  unspoken  words ;  "  and  to 
all  these  around  me !  Father,  strengthen  thy  child,  and 


IN   AMERICA.  191 

these,  —  with  the  strength  we  all  are  needing !  We  are  not 
alone,  —  we  are  here  living  together,  —  we  are  dying  to 
gether,  —  one  strength  be  ours, — as  we  need  it  all  from  thee  !" 

In  the  midst  of  this  silence,  Mr.  Harrod  rose  to  read  the 
hymn.  It  was  one  of  Reginald  Heber's.  How  it  recalled 
to  Margaret  his  Indian  home,  her  own  at  Alton,  and  her 
dear  uncle's  mission  to  New  Zealand ! 

Mr.  Harrod's  sermon  was  short,  —  made  no  pretension  to 
novelty,  nor  was  there  in  his  delivery  any  of  that  brilliancy 
which  a  silly  world  calls  eloquence  of  manner.  But  he  was 
entirely  in  earnest.  His  sermon  was  written  ;  but,  as  he  read 
it,  you  felt  that  he  was  giving  you  his  thought  and  feeling 
of  the  moment.  He  was  in  his  discourse,  and  his  discourse 
was  in  him.  He  was  warning  the  congregation  of  the  dan 
ger  into  which  they  were  led  by  their  varied  pursuits,  — 
varied  more  and  more  every  year,  —  of  falling  into  separate 
local  cliques,  separate  circles,  founded  mainly  on  their  occu 
pations,  or  other  accidents.  A  practical  affair,  directed  to 
that  particular  people,  it  was ;  but  it  opened  before  him  the 
whole  theme  of  Christian  society,  and  the  Divine  order  of 
the  world ;  — and,  as  he  closed,  he  recurred  to  the  words  of 
the  Scripture  lesson. 

"  Jesus  died,  as  he  had  lived,  that  we  all  might  be  One. 
That  the  system  might  be  renewed  in  which  God  made  us ! 
That  the  paradise  might  be  regained  of  a  united  world  !  God, 
when  he  made  man,  breathed  into  his  nostrils  His  breath 
of  life.  In  that  first  inspiration,  all  men  became  brothers 
in  life,  —  children  of  the  same  Father.  He  made  them  all 
of  one  blood ;  from  the  one  central  heart-throbs  of  his  own 
life  there  pour  forth  the  currents  which  fill  every  different 
vessel,  artery,  and  vein,  —  far  from  each  other,  and  different 
from  each  other,  but  all  warmed  and  built  up  by  that  same 
Living  Stream  !  And  Jesus  came  to  recall  them,  themselves, 


192  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

to  see,  feel,  and  live  in,  this  their  true  relation  each  to  each. 
Their  suicidal  hands  shall  no  longer,  in  his  world,  tear  limb 
from  limb,  while  the  very  blood  of  their  life  is  lost  in 
their  mad  dissension.  The  hand  shall  no  longer  say  to  the 
foot,  I  have  no  need  of  thee ;  —  nor  the  foot  to  the  head,  I 
have  no  need  of  thee.  Far  from  each  other,  it  may  be,  — 
different  from  each  other,  it  may  be,  —  all  shall  welcome  the 
current  of  God's  love,  in  whatever  direction  it  may  be  flow 
ing,  as  it  passes  them ;  —  for  to  each  it  will  be  sure  to  give 
the  food  for  his  own  life.  And  that  Christian  spirit  in  soci 
ety,  of  which  Jesus  is  the  source,  the  fountain,  shall  be  the 
answer  given,  in  Providence,  to  our  Master's  dying  prayer, 
*  that  they  all  may  be  One ; '  not  alike,  —  more  than  the  Son 
is  like  the  Father, — but  'that  they  all  may  be  one,  as 
thou  Father  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee,  that  they  all  may  be 
one  in  us.'  So  '  shall  the  world  believe  that  He  has  sent 
him.' " 

The  Lord's  prayer  followed  the  sermon,  —  the  accepted 
liturgy  of  all  communions.  Then  the  congregation  sung 
that  Doxology  which  seems  to  have  written  itself;  —  whose 
authorship  no  man  has  claimed;  —  singing  it  to  that  glori 
ous  Old  Hundred,  which,  it  may  well  be,  —  as  they  tell  us, 
—  St.  Paul  sang  in  prison.  All  standing,  even  the  children 
joined  in  singing, 

"  From  all  that  dwell  below  the  skies," 

and  a  benediction  from  Scripture  closed  the  service. 

Who  could  have  been  bold  enough  to  start  the  theory, 
carelessly  repeated  too  often,  that  the  form  of  service  of  the 
Congregational  churches  of  New  England  is.  in  its  arrange 
ments,  hard  and  cold  ?  The  service  of  this  afternoon  did 
not  seem  so  to  Margaret  Percival.  Somehow,  the  spirit  of 
criticism  was  not  in  her,  in  that  country  church.  She  for- 


IN    AMERICA.  193 

got  her  old  theories  in  the  matter.  And  all  that  she  knew, 
—  as  silently  they  waited  in  the  pew,  while  the  congregation 
slowly  retired,  and  the  carriage  was  brought  to  the  door,  — 
all  that  she  knew  was,  that  she  had  joined  in  the  worship 
of  hundreds  she  did  not  know ;  had  been  helped  by  their 
prayers,  and  had  united  her  repentances  to  theirs. 

It  was  impossible,  after  what  she  had  said  in  the  morning 
of  an  indigenous,  native-born  service,  but  that  Margaret 
should  feel,  in  this  old  country  church,  where  a  rude  inscrip 
tion  on  the  pulpit  gave  the  dates  of  its  dedication  far  back 
in  another  century,  and  where  there  gathered  old  men  and 
women  whom  she  knew  as  the  old  denizens  of  the  soil,  — 
it  was  impossible  that  she  should  not  see,  that  whether  their 
form  of  worship  was  right  or  wrong,  it  was  the  form  which 
was  of  kin  to  all  their  habits,  and  their  daily  lives.  A 
something  of  the  dignity  of  nationality  impressed  her.  And 
she  did  not  feel  sure  but,  in  part,  the  sense  of  calm  repose 
with  which  she  had  joined  in  the  worship  of  the  day  was 
connected  with  this  feeling,  that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
native  congregation,  which  had  its  life  in  the  very  Providen 
tial  history  of  the  land. 

As  they  rode  home,  Margaret  told  Anna,  distinctly,  how 
pleasant  and  grateful  had  been  the  whole  service  to  her. 

"  Yes  ?  "  asked  Anna,  as  if  relieved.  "  I  believe  I  was 
thinking  too  much  of  the  way  in  which  it  might  affect  you. 
I  was  so  glad  you  were  there !  And,  then,  I  was  so  much 
afraid  you  might  feel  a  want  in  it !  " 

Margaret  laughed,  and  said,  "  You  felt  just  as  I  felt,  this 
morning,  when  Mr.  Newstead  was  at  our  church." 

"  How  perpetually  that  lesson  comes,  —  the  rebuke  of  our 
little  consciousnesses ! " 

The  girls  found  themselves  engaged  more  heartily  than 
ever  before  in  a  comparison  of  personal  religious  emotions; 
17 


194  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

far,  indeed,  of  course,  from  the  lines  where  sects  are  divided, 
as  such  emotions  almost  always  are.  This  conversation 
engrossed  them  till  they  arrived  home. 

In  the  evening,  with  Mr.  Newstead  and  Mrs.  Wilkie,  the 
same  conversation  was  renewed.  It  happened  that,  before 
it  closed,  some  allusion  to  Mr.  Harrod's  sermon  called  out 
again  the  acknowledgment  from  Anna  that  she  believed 
she  had  not  prized  the  service  as  Margaret  had  done.  And 
Margaret,  turning  to  Mr.  Newstead,  said, 

"  Anna  and  I  had  the  same  mutual  experience  that  you 
and  I  had,  this  morning." 

Mr.  Wilkie  threw  down  the  Bibliotheca  Sacra,  which  he 
was  reading,  and  said,  "I  have  listened  to  you  this  half 
hour.  Do  you  not  see  that  the  effect  of  novelty  is  one 
decided  element  of  that  sort  of  rapt  interest  in  public 
devotions  which  you  speak  of?  Where  you  were  strangers, 
you  were  most  moved.  There  is  the  mistake  Protestants 
make  in  Roman  churches.  They  are  much  more  excited, 
on  the  first  visit,  than  is  the  native  on  his  five  thousandth. 
I  have  heard  travellers  in  the  East  describe  the  religious 
effect  caused  by  the  Muezzin,  at  sunset,  with  a  fervor  that  I 
do  not  believe  any  Islamite  living  has. 

"  But,  girls,  pray,  never,  —  never,  —  never,  —  mistake  a 
first  impression,  in  such  a  matter,  for  the  whole  test  of  a 
system  of  devotion  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

CHRISTMAS  was  fast  approaching,  and  Gertrude  had  not 
yet  returned.  Anna  had  received  frequent  letters  from  her, 
which  had  told  of  her  journey  on,  of  the  sad  forebodings 


IN    AMERICA.  195 

that  all  the  way  had  weighed  her  down,  lest  she  should  not 
find  Aunt  Clara  alive,  of  her  joy  in  seeing  her  once  more, 
and  then  again  of  her  sadness,  when  she  found  that  her 
Aunt  Clara  was  fast  fading  away,  and  that  she  was  indeed 
to  bid  her  farewell  forever.  There  was  nothing  left  for 
Gertrude  but  to  wait  by  the  side  of  the  sick  bed,  and  watch, 
day  after  day,  with  the  changes  of  hope  and  fear,  the  fail 
ing  form  of  the  dear  friend,  who,  in  former  years,  had 
watched  over  her.  Her  letters  to  Anna  were  very  sad. 
She  spoke,  at  first,  of  the  kindness  and  cordiality  of  all  who 
were  in  the  house  with  her,  whom  she  had  never  seen 
before;  and  yet,  they  did  everything  for  her  comfort,  and 
took  away,  as  far  as  possible,  from  all  the  care  and  respon 
sibility,  -in  watching  over  the  last  hours  of  their  friend,  and 
of  hers.  Mr.  Ashton,  after  staying  with  her  a  few  days,  had 
left  Gertrude  with  the  L esters,  who  then  devoted  themselves 
to  making  her  feel  at  home.  They  strove  to  distract 
her  mind  from  the  cares  and  anxiety  of  the  sick  room,  and 
showed  her  the  beauty  of  the  country  around,  and  endeav 
ored  to  awaken  her  interest  in  the  circle  about  them.  But 
Gertrude  passed  most  of  her  time  in  the  sick  room  of  her 
Aunt  Clara,  wishing  she  might  there  in  some  way  ofTer 
up  some  sacrifice,  for  the  many,  many  hours  she  had 
allowed  to  pass  away,  when  she  might  have  relieved  the 
troubles  and  anxieties  of  the  suffering  being  before  her  now, 
whose  moments  of  pain  she  could  not  shorten  or  alleviate. 

She  wrote  to  Anna,  sometimes,  in  a  more  cheerful  strain, 
of  the  beauty  of  the  prolonged  autumn,  and  the  lingering 
winter.  She  spoke  of  the  roses  still  in  bloom  in  the  softer 
air,  while  Anna  was  perhaps  shivering  with  the  first  snow 
storm. 

She  spoke,  in  one  of  her  letters,  of  her  visit  to  the  Cathe 
dral.  "It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  last  Sunday,  and 


196  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

Sophia  proposed  to  me  to  go  to  the  Catholic  church.  One 
of  her  cousins  is  a  Catholic,  and  Sophia  often  accompanies 
her  to  church.  The  morning  reminded  me  of  one  of  our 
days  in  October,  when  I  used  to  tell  you  that  the  air  was 
so  exciting,  I  felt  strong  for  every  exertion  and  effort.  How 
I  wished  I  could  now  cross  the  mountain  with  you,  and 
walk  through  the  porch  of  the  little  quiet  Fairmeadow 
church  !  Instead,  we  entered  the  great  cathedral.  Then, 
suddenly  came  over  me  what  we  were  there  for.  Sophia 
began  to  point  out  to  me  the  pictures,  the  vestments  of  the 
priests,  —  I  scarcely  know  what,  —  for  I  turned  away,  and 
hid  my  face  in  my  hands.  I  had  seen  a  multitude  kneeling 
in  the  form  of  worship,  and  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  that  I 
should  venture  to  look  around,  and  coldly  criticize,  or  won 
der,  or  admire.  How  I  longed  to  know  if  it  were  a  true  wor 
ship  going  up  from  the  bended  knee  and  bowed  form,  —  and 
then  I  reproached  myself,  that  I  should  question  the  warmth 
of  others'  hearts,  merely  because  I  found  a  coldness  in  my 
own.  I  hid  my  face  in  my  hands,  and  the  service  went  on. 
I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  was,  who  spoke  the  words,  nor  what 
the  words  were ;  —  I  only  know  that  the  sound  of  the  music 
stole  through  my  half-closed  senses  into  my  heart ;  I  only 
know  that  then  I  did  worship,  —  that  it  was  not  merely  that 
my  knee  was  bended,  —  that  I  needed  not  to  move  my  lips, 
for  my  heart  was  bowed  down.  There  rose  within  me,  not  a 
prayer,  —  for  it  was  without  words, — but  an  uplifting  of  the 
heart,  such  as  I  have  not  before  felt.  Anna,  tell  me  whence 
came  this  worship; — was  it  an  influence  that  stole  out  from 
the  holiness  of  the  place,  that  drew  my  heart,  in  spite  of 
itself,  and  made  it  kneel  down  before  the  altar  of  God? 
You  were  not  by  my  side,  to  tell  me,  —  you  wrere  not  near 
me,  to  look  into  my  heart !  And  I  am  not  sure  that  then  I 
was  ready  to  question.  I  was  not  sorry  when  Sophia  said 


IN   AMERICA.  197 

she  was  too  tired  to  walk  with  me ;  and  I  set  forth  alone, 
from  the  church  door.  I  felt  a  sense  of  exhilaration,  as  if 
all  things  were  growing  possible  before  me ;  and  I  wanted  to 
rise  to  some  mountain  height,  to  look  forth,  and  say,  —  I 
will  go  here,  —  I  will  work  well  there. 

"  But  I  came  home.  I  went  to  Aunt  Clara's  bedside.  She 
was  weak,  —  failing ;  her  only  strength  was  in  her  smile, 
which  looked  towards  me  as  if  it  would  strengthen  me. 
How  I  wished  I  might  gather  hope  from  it,  that  she  were, 
indeed,  going  to  live  for  herself,  —  for  us  all,  —  for  me !  I  feel 
as  if  it  were  just  her  hand  that  might  lead  me  on.  How 
happily  we  might  live  together  now !  We  would  return  to 
Elm  wood ;  we  would  have  the  children  at  home  again : 
she  would  teach  me  how  I  might  best  help  on  the  girls,  — 
how  I  might  lighten  Lizzie  of  her  little  troubles.  I  have, 
often  and  often,  gone  over  these  thoughts,  as  I  have  sat  at 
Aunt  Clara's  bedside ;  and  then  some  motion  calls  me  to 
look  at  her,  —  at  her  wasted  hand,  and  dimmed  glance, — 
and  I  see  that  I  must  begin  to  school  my  heart  for  a  heavy 
change  !  Anna,  I  am  not  learning  patience  at  the  sick 
bedside,  nor  resignation.  I  fancied  one  always  learnt  these 
there,  if  anywhere;  but  I  only  find  rebellion.  I  say  to 
myself  '  I  cannot,  no,  I  cannot  let  her  go  ! '  Aunt  Clara  is 
too  ill  to  speak,  else  she  might  teach  me  something ;  —  she 
might  tell  me  where  she  learnt  her  patience  ;  how  she  can 
summon  up  that  smile,  in  the  midst  of  heavy  bodily  pain. 
Now  this  patience  only  afflicts  me,  —  now  I  learn  nothing. 
I  think  how  long  a  life  has  taught  her  that  smile,  —  a  life 
of  suffering,  that  I,  perhaps,  have  added  to  ! 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  to  the  Catholic  church  again, 

though  Cornelia,  Sophia's  cousin,  urges  it ;  but  it  would  be 

very  unlikely  that  such  an  hour  of  devotion  would  visit  me 

again.     I  would  rather  not  put  it  to  the   test.     I  would 

17* 


19S  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

rather  look  back  upon  the  place  as  where  I  once  was  visited 
with  the  fire  of  devotion,  —  where  the  flame  burned  within 
me.  Meanwhile,  write  to  me,  Anna ;  tell  me  if  my  heart 
is  very  hard,  not  to  be  touched  and  brought  to  resignation 
by  the  side  of  a  death-bed  !  " 

In  another  letter,  Gertrude  spoke  more  of  Sophia  Les 
ter's  cousin,  Cornelia,  —  of  some  of  the  family  circle  around 
her. 

"  I  am  almost  sorry,  when  I  write  to  you  of  these  friends 
around  me,  lest,  for  the  sake  of  describing  them  to  you,  I 
study  them  too  closely,  and  judge  of  them  critically.  I 
remember  once  talking  with  you  of  the  way  we  treat  those 
who  are  comparatively  strangers  to  us.  How  much  we 
analyze  their  characters!  Anything  that  strikes  us  un 
pleasantly,  we  set  down  as  a  characteristic,  a  common  defect 
in  their  composition.  I  remember  you  spoke  of  how  differ 
ently  we  acted  towards  those  whom  we  love.  Even  if  we 
are  aware  of,  or  are  occasionally  disturbed  by,  their  defects, 
we  throw  a  veil  over  these,  —  our  love  never  allows  us  to 
dwell  on  them.  If,  for  a  moment,  we  are  led  to  think  of 
such  defects,  if  any  one  else  should  point  them  out,  we  are 
very  ready  to  excuse  them,  as  a  thing  only  of  the  moment, 
not  a  blemish  in  the  heart.  You  wished  we  had  more 
charity,  to  extend  this  veil  a  little  further  than  over  our 
near  friends.  It  is  not  for  their  perfection  that  we  have 
chosen  them.  Perhaps,  too,  it  is  prejudice  that  has  blinded 
us  towards  those  that  are  more  strangers  to  us.  We  say, 
«  Such  a  person  has  a  disagreeable  way  of  doing  so  and  so,' 
when,  perhaps,  it  is  only  an  accident  of  the  moment,  and 
we  have  not  had  charity  enough  to  overlook  it. 

"  I  try  to  cultivate  some  of  this  charity  towards  the  new 
circle  into  which  I  am  thrown.  Not  that  I  would  have  you 
think  that  I  am  cold  to  the  friendship  that  is  shown  me. 


IN    AMERICA.  199 

To  no  one  but  you  would  I  have  said  what  I  have  of  Cor 
nelia,  for  she  has  shown  me  particular  kindness ;  and  all 
this  that  I  have  been  writing,  and  have  enlarged  upon,  as 
one  does  in  letters,  —  or  as  I  do,  in  particular,  to  you,  —  is 
to  tell  you  that  what  I  have  considered  a  particular  charac 
teristic  of  Cornelia's  may  be  merely  something  accidental. 
Perhaps  my  own  reserve,  or  some  coldness  in  my  manner, 
may  have  thrown  over  her  a  coldness  unnatural  to  her. 
She  has,  indeed,  great  warmth  of  expression,  and,  I  think, 
of  feeling;  but  I  have  heard  her  say  certain  things  of 
religion,  in  a  hard,  stoical 'way,  as  if  she  made  it  to  consist 
in  sacrifice  merely ;  —  there  does  not  seem  to  be  a  willingness 
in  it.  It  does  not  become  me  to  speak  so  of  another's 
religious  feelings ;  but,  when  I  look  at  her,  I  feel  as  if  she 
were  not  aware  of  the  joyousness  that  I,  even  I,  believe  a 
religious  person  ought  to  wear.  To  have  a  real  courageous 
heart,  a  clear  eye  to  see  the  way  towards  the  truth,  —  one 
who  could  claim  such  treasures  as  these,  ought  to  wear  a 
firm  step  .and  a  bearing  of  joyousness.  It  seems  to  me  as 
if  Cornelia  might  make  a  Lady  Abbess ;  there  is  about  her 
a  self-confidence,  that,  at  the  same  time,  does  not  invite 
one's  sympathy.  I  can  imagine  a  timid  person  looking  up 
to  her  as  one  whose  light  would  never  fail,  but  I  cannot 
imagine  any  one  clinging  to  her. 

"  Cornelia  has  been  very  kind,  in  lending  me  books  to 
read.  But  I  do  not  find  I  can  read  much.  I  had  rather 
think,  or  write  to  you.  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  send  you 
my  sadder  thoughts;  but  you  will  know  how  these  are 
uppermost  with  me.  My  happiest  event  is  when  a  letter 
from  you  comes ;  then,  I  am  sure,  for  a  while,  of  support, 
though  oftentimes  afterwards  there  comes  a  heart-sinking, 
that  with  such  a  friend  I  am  not  more  and  greater." 


200  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

GERTRUDE  wrote  also  to  Margaret,  and  Margaret  had 
answered  her  letters.  In  one  of  these,  Margaret  enlarged 
upon  the  position  in  which  she  found  herself. 

"  I  wonder,  sometimes,  when  I  find  myself  in  a  place  so 
well  fitted  for  me,  such  kind  friends  risen  up  so  suddenly 
around  me.  Mrs.  Brace  is,  in  some  points,  almost  mother- 
kind  towards  me.  I  came  out  here  with  the  thought  that 
I  should  have  many  hardships  to  encounter;  but  I  find 
there  are  but  few  to  be  found  without  me,  and  my  troubles 
within  remain  very  much  of  the  same  nature  as  when  I  was 
at  home.  At  home!  When  I  say  these  words,  there  comes 
back  to  me  the  picture  of  the  home  of  many  years  ago ;  and 
I  whisper  to  myself,  that  even  were  I  to  turn  back  to  Eng 
land,  whose  name  will  always  be  home  to  me,  I  shall  find 
almost  everything  else  wanting.  What  wishes  I  have  un- 
gratified  are  of  a  sort  that  I  feel  I  may  never  see  fulfilled. 
I  long  to  have  my  own  family  about  me.  I  wish  that  my 
brother  George  had  his  ministry  here.  I  wish  that  my 
Uncle  Sutherland  were  with  me,  to  lead  me  in  the  work 
that  I  want  to  do.  I  have  often  expressed  to  Anna  the 
wish  that  he  were  indeed  here ;  for  one  thing,  that  you, 
Gertrude,  might  be  brought  to  know  him.  Think  of  the 
delight  of  having  one  near  you  to  whom  you  could  go  with 
every  doubt,  whose  clear  eye  and  well-informed  mind  might 
unravel  every  mystery !  He  knew  so  well  the  history  of 
religion,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  appeal  to  him  for  information 
on  every  point ;  nay,  more,  he  often  anticipated  me  in  my 
wants,  and  his  advice  and  counsel  came  before  I  had  formed 
the  words  to  ask  them.  The  happiest  period  of  my  life 


IN    AMERICA.  201 

was  when  I  felt  myself  associated  with  him  in  his  labors, 
and,  for  a  while,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  true  and  perfect 
Church.  I  have  wandered  away  from  my  subject.  I  was 
going  to  tell  you  of  the  Wilton  people,  and  my  Wilton 
home.  Some  time,  I  am  going  to  write  to  you  of  my 
scholars,  and  how  deeply  they  interest  me.  One  of  them 
was,  last  Sunday,  confirmed,  by  the  rites  of  our  Church ; 
and  I  can  say  to  you,  Gertrude,  I  think  in  part  owing  to 
my  influence.  It  is  very  true,  what  I  have  heard  Anna 
say,  that  we,  at  our  age,  can  effect  much  with  our  influence 
over  girls  a  few  years  younger  than  ourselves.  Such  an 
intimacy  may  prove  very  valuable  to  them.  We  can  act 
towards  them  as  elder  sisters  in  the  religious  family,  who 
have  partly  gone  through  the  experience  that  is  beginning 
to  enter  into  their  life. 

"  You  ask  me  what  are  some  of  the  troubles  around  me, 
to  which  I  alluded  when  I  wrote  you  last.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  spoke  of  them,  for  I  believe  there  is  now  a  hope  that 
we  shall  get  on  better.  The  troubles  were  in  our  house 
hold  here,  which  is  composed  of  many  differing  elements. 
I  have  seen,  as  I  have  often  seen  before,  how  much  unhap- 
piness  an  unbridled  temper  occasions.  It  is  very  strange, 
so  short  a  time  as  we  are  placed  with  each  other, —  so  much 
as  at  heart  we  love  each  other,  —  we  must  needs  make  one 
another  so  uncomfortable!  What  a  pity,  as  you  said  in 
your  letter  to  Anna,  that  we  cannot  spread  our  mantle  of 
love  further  !  Instead  of  wondering  over  a  trait  of  unkind- 
ness  in  another,  and  repeating  it  to  a  third  person,  why 
cannot  we  look  upon  it  as  a  heavy  burden  that  the  owner 
has  to  carry,  and  see  if  we  cannot  help  him  while  he  bears 
it ;  or,  at  least,  look  into  our  own  hearts,  and  find  a  fault  as 
heavy  there !  I  am  so  much  shut  up  in  my  own  room,  or 
occupied  in  my  school-room,  that  I  have  not  been  so  much 


202  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 

exposed  to  these  collisions,  though  Mary,  Mrs.  Brace's 
youngest  daughter,  often  comes  to  me  with  sad  complaints. 
She  came  into  my  room,  the  other  day,  when  Anna  was 
with  me,  with  her  eyes  flashing,  and  much  disturbed.  She 
did  not  say  anything  for  a  while,  and  we  went  on  talk 
ing;  then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  told  us  how  angry 
and  excited  she  had  been.  She  had  been  treated  by, —  I 
will  not  tell  you  who,  —  a  girl  of  her  own  age,  in  a  way 
she  could  not  bear,  and  had  answered  in  a  way  that  now 
she  appeared  to  be  sorry  for.  Anna  spoke  to  her  kindly, 
and  showed  that  she  was  much  shocked  at  this  expression 
of  Mary's  warmth  of  temper.  '  If  you  could  remember,' 
said  Anna,  *  that  with  such  words  — ' 

"'If  I  could  remember,'  interrupted  Mary  —  'but  oh! 
that  is  my  great  trouble.  I  resolve  often  I  will  keep  the 
peace.  I  am  shocked  at  my  own  hastiness ;  but  when  the 
moment  comes,  the  shame  and  the  resolution  melt  away. 
O,  if  you  could  give  me  any  talisman,  —  anything  to  remind 
me  of  what  I  want  to  do  —  ' 

"  Anna  told  her  she  would  write  some  favorite  words  that 
she  often  brought  up  in  her  own  mind,  when  her  indigna 
tion  was  excited  against  another,  —  that  she  would  write 
them  on  a  piece  of  paper,  which  Mary  could  pin  up  on  the 
door  of  her  room,  where  she  could  see  it  every  time  she 
came  out.  Mary  was  quite  pleased,  and  Anna  wrote, 
'  Beings  so  dear  to  God,  the  friends  of  Jesus,  should  indeed 
be  treated  by  us  with  the  utmost  gentleness.' 

"  Mary  has  done  as* was  proposed;  and  I  often  see  her 
coming  from  her  room  with  a  smile  upon  her  face,  that  the 
sight  of  these  words  has  brought  there.  She  said  it  was  a 
new  idea,  or  one  that  she  had  overlooked,  that  we  were 
to  look  upon  those  around  us  as  so  dear  to  Christ,  that, 


IN    AMERICA.  203 

indeed,  what  was  done  to  the  least  of  these  was  done  to 
Christ  himself." 

Anna,  in  her  letters,  strove  to  encourage  Gertrude. 

"  Margaret  has  sent  you  some  books,  and,  indeed,  I  think 
it  would  be  good  for  you  to  read  more.  I  do  not  like  the 
idea  of  your  letting  your  thoughts  wander,  as  you  say  you 
do.  I  remember  a  time  when  I  was  troubled  with  very 
heavy  doubts.  I  was  in  that  state,  that  I  even  wondered  if 
the  books  that  contained  the  history  of  Christ  were  true ;  — 
if  anything  were  true.  I  found  myself  so  wandering  in 
speculation,  that  at  last  I  sought  for  a  remedy.  I  read 
books  that  would  not  be  interesting  to  me  now,  and  were 
not,  at  the  beginning,  then ;  but  I  schooled  myself  to  it.  I 
read  all  the  evidences  of  Christianity ;  the  proofs  that  the 
writings  were  what  they  pretend  to  be ;  that  the  apostles 
really  lived  and  wrote  in  faith ;  that  there  was  no  break 
in  the  handing  down  of  these  Scriptures,  but  that  they 
could  be  traced  from  the  very  source  from  which  they  were 
said  to  have  sprung.  It  turned  out  to  be  just  the  food  my 
mind  was  in  need  of  then,  and  I  have  been  very  grateful  to 
it.  This  study  laid  up  for  me  a  store  of  facts,  for  which  I 
have  been  very  thankful  since.  It  has  served  as  a  found 
ation  for  other  sorts  of  religious  knowledge ;  and  now  I 
never  have  to  stir  it  up,  to  see  how  secure  it  is.  But  such 
a  study  you  may  not  have  the  time  nor  the  heart  for,  now, 
nor,  indeed,  the  need  of;  but,  as  Margaret  says,  there  are, 
for  you  to  read,  the  lives  of  those  who  have  suffered  before 
us ;  and  the  knowledge  of  their  contest,  and  their  '  victory 
too,'  helps  us  on. 

"  I  must  not  let  this  letter  go  without  telling  you  how 
Margaret  wins  upon  every  one  in  Wilton.  She  is  a  great 
favorite  at  the  school,  and  throughout  the  village.  She  is 
indefatigable  in  visiting  the  poor,  and  those  who  are  in 


204  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

trouble.  You  know  there  are  more  really  poor  people  in 
Wilton  than  with  us ;  and  Margaret  has  been  earnest  in 
finding  them  out,  and  sympathizing  in  their  troubles.  They 
look  forward  to  her  coming  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and 
she  reads  to  them,  and  talks  cheerfully  to  them. 

"  We  talk,  sometimes,  upon  the  subject  of  '  the  Church,' 
but  on  that  point  I  do  not  think  we  draw  nearer  together. 
I  love  her  more  and  more,  and  can  respect  that  form  of 
religion  that  has  served  to  make  her  so  truthful,  so  earnest 
in  doing  right,  and  so  steadfast." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

ONE  morning,  Margaret  awoke  to  look  out  upon  the  first 
snow-storm.  She  drew  up  the  window-curtain,  and  there 
lay  before  her  that  wondrous  scene  towards  which,  from 
each  returning  season,  our  eyes  grow  more  familiar,  but 
which  must  needs  excite  a  few  words  of  surprise,  with  its 
renewed  beauty,  from  the  lips  of  the  most  indifferent. 
What  a  change  from  the  night  before  !  Then  the  landscape 
wore  a  desolate  air ;  the  bared  branches  of  the  trees  were 
sighing  beneath  a  heavy  wind,  and  the  distant  hills  showed 
an  indistinct  outline  against  the  darker  sky.  Now  every 
thing  was  transformed,  and  wore  a  glorified  garment.  The 
delicate  branches  of  the  smallest  trees  hung  drooping  with 
their  white  burden.  How  picturesque  was  the  building 
opposite !  A  heavy  hanging  elm  had  never  served  before 
to  hide  the  blackened  building  below,  that  had  always  been 
an  eyesore  in  the  landscape.  But  even  this  was  now 
covered  with  beauty,  the  thick-piled  snow  hanging  over  the 
projecting  eaves,  and  giving  a  graceful  form  to  what  was 


IN    AMERICA.  205 

absolutely  ugly  beneath.     The  snow  was  still  silently  fall 
ing,  and  spread  a  dazzling  veil  before  the  eye. 

As  she  passed  through  the  little  front  door-yard,  on  her 
way  to  school,  Margaret  was  still  excited  with  wonder. 
Everything  here  had  been  transfigured  too.  The  formal 
outline  of  the  picketed  fence  even,  had  been  rendered  grace 
ful  ;  and  two  slender  trees,  that  had  been  all  summer  strug 
gling  for  growth,  now  wore  a  beautiful  snow-foliage,  more 
lovely  than  the  fondest  gardener  could  have  pictured.  These 
trees  had  always  been  subjects  of  speculation  with  Marga 
ret  ;  they  had,  through  the  autumn,  stretched  their  meagre, 
leafless  branches  towards  each  other,  as  if  with  a  vain  effort 
to  protect  the  broad  stump  of  an  elm  that  lay  between  them. 
This  broad  stump  must  once  have  borne  a  finely  spreading 
tree  of  the  same  nature  as  the  one  that  grew  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road,  and  it  had  the  marks  of  having  been  cut 
but  lately.  Margaret  had  often  wondered  at  the  kind  of 
taste,  or  had  asked  herself  what  could  have  been  the  feeling, 
that  had  led  to  the  cutting  down  of  so  magnificent  a  tree, 
and  had  then  planted  these  two  pathetic-looking  ash-trees, 
as  if  to  mourn  over  the  spot. 

All  school-time,  Margaret's  eyes  were  wandering  towards 
the  windows.  The  silent  snow  fell  slower  and  slower,  and 
when  the  school-hours  were  over,  and  Margaret  reached 
the  door,  the  storm  had  ceased,  the  sky  was  cleared  of 
clouds,  and  was  of  a  deep,  dazzling  blue. 

Margaret  walked  away  from  the  noise  of  the  happy  chil 
dren,  revelling  in  the  snow,  up  the  street  towards  Fair- 
meadow.  It  seemed  to  her  that  silence  gave  an  added 
beauty  to  the  scene,  and  she  wanted  to  yield  to  the  mys 
terious  feeling  that  this  magic  change  awoke  in  her  heart. 
How  beautiful  the  silence  was !  —  the  delicate  flakes,  how 
noiselessly  they  fell  from  the  trees  to  the  whitened  ground ! 
18 


206  MARGARET    PERC1VAL 

She  was  walking  on  in  a  wonder  of  delight,  when  she 
was  addressed  by  a  passer  by. 

"  Shan't  I  give  you  a  lift,  Ma'am  ?" 

A  man  was  driving  a  large  sledge,  now  emptied  of  wood ; 
and  two  of  the  school-children  were  already, seated  on  the 
edge,  rejoicing  at  the  generous  offer  they  had  received  of  a 
ride.  Margaret  hesitated.  She  had  set  forth  with  a  feeling 
that  she  might,  perhaps,  reach  Fairmeadow  and  the  Wil- 
kies'.  She  wanted  to  share  with  Anna  the  new-born  de 
light  of  the  day,  and  had  been  earnestly  plunging  on  through 
the  snow.  She  looked  down  upon  the  untrodden  way  before 
her,  and  the  snow  more  than  ankle  deep,  and  then  discovered 
that  the  wood-cutter  was  going  beyond  Fairmeadow,  as  far 
as  the  factory  village.  He  agreed  to  leave  her  at  Mr.  Wil- 
kie's  house,  as  he  passed ;  and  she  took  her  seat  by  his  side, 
and  found  herself  going  on  more  rapidly.  Now  she  joined 
in  with  the  delight  of  the  children,  at  the  heavily  laden  trees, 
and  the  long  icicles,  and  the  boys  skating  in  the  pools  beside 
the  road. 

"  What  a  palace  your  house  has  become  ! "  said  Margaret, 
as  they  stopped  to  leave  the  girls  at  their  home.  "  What  a 
beautiful  diamond-sparkling  hanging  the  icicles  make,  above 
the  windows ! " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  like  Aladdin's  palace ;  and  the  boys  are  going 
to  put  up  a  white  snow  statue,  this  afternoon,  to  protect  it. 
But,  Miss  Percival,  what  is  that  party  shouting  to  you?" 

A  sleigh,  with  jingling  bells,  drove  up  by  the  side,  con 
taining  Mr.  Newstead,  Anna,  and  the  Haviland  children, 
with  a  seat  for  Margaret,  whom  they  were  to  persuade  to 
ride  with  them,  and  then  return  home  together.  Anna 
laughed  heartily,  at  finding  Margaret  so  comfortably  seated 
on  the  wood-sled,  and  doubted  whether  she  would  be  willing 
to  change  her  position. 


IN   AMERICA.  207 

"  We  must  go  to  Mrs.  Brace's,  before  we  go  further,  and 
get  you  a  few  more  cloaks.  The  rule,  in  sleigh-riding,  is,  to 
wear  everything  you  have  got,  and  then  to  borrow.  The 
person  was  never  yet  seen,  who  was  too  warm,  or  too  com 
fortable,  on  a  sleigh-ride.  Then  we  are  to  take  the  road 
through  the  valley,  over  the  hills,  and  home  by  the  post- 
office,  where  I  prophesy  there  will  be  a  letter  from  Gertrude 
awaiting  us." 

Margaret  now  shouted,  too,  with  delight  and  excitement, 
as  the  children  did  at  the  joyous  beauty  of  all  they  passed 
through,  —  at  each  icicled  tree,  that  sent  back  the  sparkling 
sunbeam,  —  at  the  snow  mantled  fir-trees,  —  at  the  strange 
old  oaks,  that  stretched  out  their  arms,  like  giants  in  a 
ghostlike  drapery ;  nay,  at  every  little  flake  of  snow,  that 
fell,  like  a  white  star,  on  the  fur  of  her  muff. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  busy  to-day,  and  I  must  go  to 
you,  if  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  said  Margaret  to  Anna. 

"  O,  we  forgot  all  business,  when  we  looked  out  of  the 
window  to-day.  I  determined,  if  the  snow  would  only  stop 
falling  in  time,  you  should  have  with  me  the  first  view  of 
the  forest  trees,  before  they  had  shaken  it  off.  I  roused  Mr. 
Newstead,  and  everybody  in  the  house,  into  activity  on  the 
subject.  The  children  were  ready  enough,  with  their  enthu 
siasm,  to  help  me.  Mr.  Newstead's  only  doubt  was  whether 
our  sleigh-bells  were  the  most  musical  that  could  be  picked 
up.  And  you  came  near  thwarting  it  all,  by  eloping  with 
Mr.  Woodfell.  We  should  have  missed  you,  surely,  if  you 
had  got  on  faster,  beyond  where  the  road  turns  off,  for  we 
came  through  the  woods;  and  you  and  your  Mr.  Woodfell 
would  have  had  your  morning  together." 

"  See  that  giant  ghost ! "  cried  the  children,  as  a  large 
sign-board  stretched  itself  forth,  all  laden  with  snow. 

"Now,"   said    Mr.   Newstead,   "we   shall   never   know 


208  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

where  we  are  going.  This  downward  road,  I  think,  leads 
into  fairy  land ;  and  unless  our  horses  go  like  the  wind,  we 
shall  never  come  out  again,  but  ride  forever  round  in  a 
circle." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Anna ;  "  listen  a  while  to  these 
boughs.  What  a  strange  sound  sighs  out  of  the  large  limbs 
of  the  trees,  as  they  wave  over  each  other !  It  is  like  no 
other  sound  in  music." 

"  That  is  a  part  of  the  elfin  music ;  no  mortal  ever  under 
stands  its  meaning.  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  bad  sign  for  us  that 
we  have  even  heard  it ! " 

"  0,  Mr.  Newstead,"  cried  one  of  the  children,  "  you 
cannot  frighten  us  in  broad  day-light!" 

"  And,  then,  our  horses  are  going  as  fast  as  the  wind  ; 
and  here  we  come  out  of  the  grove,  after  all." 

"  Only  strong-hearted  persons  ever  come  out  of  that  grove 
alive,  and  it  is  very  dangerous  to  stop  and  listen  to  the 
music.  But  here  is  a  little  stream ;  let  us  drive  down,  and 
cross  on  the  ice.  Now  we  can  see  the  skaters.  What  a 
happy  world  it  is,  and  what  a  happy  day ! " 

"  Such  a  bright-looking  sky,"  said  Margaret,  "  such  a 
pure-looking  earth,  ought  to  drive  away  all  superstition.  It 
is  no  wonder  fairies  and  goblins  do  not  live  here.  There  is 
not  gloom  nor  shadow  enough  for  them." 

"  Do  Naiads  walk  on  their  heads  ?"  asked  Fanny. 

"  On  their  heads  !     Why  so  ? " 

"  Why,  the  trees  are  always  up  side  down  in  the  water, 
and  the  forests;  and  when  they  walk  through  the  groves,  I 
always  thought  the  fairies  under  water  would  have  to  walk 
on  their  heads." 

"  Mr.  Newstead,"  said  Margaret,  after  they  had  been  in 
silence  for  a  while,  "  it  was  five  weeks  ago,  that  you  told 
me  that  another  month  would  find  you  on  the  sea,  on  your 


IN   AMERICA.  209 

way  to  Palestine !  What  has  become  of  that  dilatory  Mr. 
Astley?" 

"  Mr.  Newstead's  crusade,"  said  Anna,  "  is  as  difficult  to 
put  in  action  as  those  of  the  olden  time.  Mr.  Newstead  is 
a  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  and  the  rest  of  the  world  are  degen 
erate." 

"Astley  is  degenerate,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Newstead, 
"  since  he  is  direct  in  descent  from  the  earlier  settlers  of 
Virginia.  If  it  had  not  been  for  him,  I  should  have  been 
ploughing  the  seas  now,  my  eyes  directed  towards  Jerusa 
lem.  Astley  declared  he  would  go  with  rne,  if  I  would 
wait  for  him ;  and  as,  in  our  college  days,  we  formed  many 
visions  together,  I  was  not  sorry  to  delay  a  while,  for  the 
sake  of  realizing  some  of  these  visions.  Now,  he  writes 
me,  he  cannot  go  till  early  spring ;  and,  meanwhile,  I  am 
launched  upon  a  new  enterprise." 

"  You  mean  your  plan  for  the  orphan  boys." 

"  Yes.  When  I  first  began  to  talk  about  it,  I  thought  I 
should  only  undertake  the  talking,  and  leave  behind  me, 
when  I  should  go  to  Palestine,  the  execution  of  my  plans. 
But  now  that  I  am  more  interested  in  the  affair,  I  feel  that 
no  one,  perhaps,  can  stand  at  the  head  of  the  concern  better 
than  I  myself,  and  that  no  one  else  has  the  time  for  it.  I 
have  entered  into  correspondence  with  a  Mr.  Murray,  of 
Boston,  on  the  subject,  who  has  given  me  some  very  good 
suggestions,  and  encourages  me  to  think  that  the  project  is 
one  that  will  succeed,  and  be  of  great  benefit.  I  find  I  am 
not  likely  to  want  for  funds." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  asked  Margaret,  "  that  this  can  so  easily 
take  the  place  of  your  Eastern  longing?" 

"  Take  the  place  !  Miss  Percival,  you  could  not  believe 
it  possible !  It  only  reconciles  me  to  waiting  until  spring, 
when  Astley  can  go  out  with  me.  Astley  is  a  person  of 
18* 


210  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

a  strictly  practical  mind.  He  is  interested  in  the  coasting 
trade,  between  Askelon  and  Scanderoon.  I  feel  it  quite 
important  to  enlist  him  in  my  enterprise.  In  this  way,  my 
delay  through  the  winter  will  not  only  help  on  my  cause, 
but  give  me  an  opportunity  to  be  useful  at  home.  I  am 
thankful,  meanwhile,  that  I  have  this  employment  to  interest 
me.  Anna  Wilkie  looks  incredulous.  I  believe  you  think 
that  next  spring  will  bring  me  something  new  to  detain 
me." 

"  I  believe  you  think  me  very  unenthusiastic,  very  un- 
sympathizing.  I  will  confess,  that,  for  the  sake  of  the 
orphan  boys,  I  am  very  glad  you  are  willing  to  delay  one 
winter ;  and  that  I  see  a  positive  good  to  be  done  here, 
while  the  other  was  but  visionary.  But  I  none  the  less 
love  visions." 

"  But  the  horses  are,  indeed,  going  quite  too  fast,"  said 
Julia ;  "  here  we  are,  turning  into  the  village  street.  O, 
Anna,  we  shall  be  at  home  too  soon ! " 

"  But  we  shall  have  another  ride.  To-night,  by  moon 
light,  we  will  carry  Margaret  home." 

There  was,  indeed,  a  letter  from  Gertrude,  which  greeted 
Anna  and  Margaret  with  delight.  They  delayed  opening 
it  until  they  should  reach  home. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Anna,  "  we  shall  find  that  Gertrude  has, 
at  least,  had  some  little  of  the  happiness  and  joyousness  that 
we  have  had  this  morning." 


IN   AMERICA.  211 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

GERTRUDE'S  letter  did,  indeed,  begin  in  a  more  happy  tone 
than  any  of  her  later  letters.  Aunt  Clara  had,  for  a  few 
days,  been  a  little  better,  and  the  Lesters  had  insisted  that 
Gertrude  should  go  on  to  Washington,  and  pass  a  day  there; 
and  she  gave  an  amusing  account  of  everything  new  that 
she  saw.  But  the  tone  of  her  letter  changed :  — 

"  I  cannot  write,  my  dear  Anna,  any  further  in  this  strain. 
I  cannot,  indeed,  disguise  to  you  how  wretched  I  am.  I 
have  tried  to  send  you  a  happy  account  of  myself;  but  my 
soul  sinks  lower  and  lower !  O,  Anna !  can  you  not  come  to 
me,  —  can  you  not  lift  me  out  of  myself  ?  In  my  heart  there 
is  no  peace  !  I  dare  not  to  look  back,  —  there  is  no  joy 
in  the  present,  —  and  hope,  I  cannot !  I  am  so  weak,  I  dare 
not  venture  to  think,  that,  in  my  strongest  moments,  I  can 
ever  be  what  I  would  wish  to  be.  I  feel  no  inward  power; 
I  need  an  outward  hand  to  help  me.  I  feel,  if  I  could  only 
quietly  drop  out,  some  way,  it  would  be  the  better  for  me, 
—  for  everybody.  Yesterday,  we  drove  to  the  beautiful 
cemetery.  I  envied  the  rose-leaves,  as  they  fell  towards 
the  earth.  I  envied  the  quiet  ones  that  lay  below.  I  saw 
the  cross  that  stood  above  the  graves,  and  I  felt  that  I  had 
not  strength  to  lift  it.  I  wished  that  my  sentence  were 
written,  and  that  my  soul  lay  in  the  same  rest  as  my  body, 
in  its  eternal  home.  I  hear  you  say,  '  This  is  wicked;'  — 
and  how  I  wish  that  I  could  really  hear  you  say  so !  The 
tones  of  your  voice  might  have  something  to  refresh  me, 
like  a  cool  sea-breeze.  Now,  all  tones  sound  reproachfully 
to  me,  and  the  air,  and  perfumes,  and  music,  and  all  things, 


212  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

say  to  me,  Thou  wert  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  found 
wanting  !  And  to  all  this  I  listen,  dull  and  heavily.  Last 
night,  the  Germania  Band  played  a  serenade  before  the 
house  above  us.  I  was  sitting,  late  at  night,  alone,  in  Aunt 
Clara's  room.  There  came  up  to  me  the  most  delicious  of 
all  harmonies,  in  the  stillest  of  nights.  And  even  this 
reproached  me ;  I  felt  as  if  I  alone  were  at  discord,  —  as  if 
all  things  else  united  in  the  most  blissful  of  harmonies, 
which  I  might  never  reach.  And  my  discord  was  the  dis 
cord  of  silence  ;  for  I  could  not  find  a  note  of  praise.  How 
beautiful  are  the  silences  in  real  music  !  They  are  as 
expressive  as  the  strains  that  close  before,  and  follow  them. 
But  my  silence  is  such  that  no  tone  breaks  up.  O,  Anna ! 
will  you  not  indeed  come,  and  put  your  arms  around  your 
friend,  and  say,  that,  in  spite  of  all  my  weakness,  you  still 
will  love  me  ?  I  feel  as  if  all  else  would  leave  me,  and  God 
himself  forsake  me  !  Yes,  I  see  nothing  in  me  from  which 
I  can  claim  the  love  of  any  being ;  a\id  this  fills  me  with 
doubt,  most  heavy  doubt.  At  times,  I  even  doubt  your  love 
for  me,  and  I  think  I  ought  not  ask  it.  I  have  striven,  in 
my  letters,  not  to  impart  to  you  the  depth  of  my  troubles ; 
but  I  can  hide  it  no  longer  ;  and  I  earnestly  pray  to  you,  to 
come  to  me,  to  support  me  ! 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  explain  to  you  what  my  troubles  are. 
I  have,  for  a  long  time,  felt  an  absence  of  all  faith.  I  think 
you  have,  in  part,  seen  this,  when  I  have  been  with  you ; 
but  I  could  not  show  you  all,  nor  can  I  now.  By  your  side, 
I  felt  as  if  the  spirit  of  faith  that  guided  you  had  utterly 
deserted  me.  I  wished  to  put  myself  upon  your  path,  that 
I  might  at  least  look  forward  to  reaching,  some  time,  where 
you  have  reached.  You  know  not  what  it  is  to  doubt  what 
I  have  doubted,  even  the  goodness  of  God.  And  when,  at 
times,  his  majesty  and  greatness  come  before  me,  then  rises 


IN   AMERICA.  213 

the  thought  of  my  own  littleness,  and  I  doubt  myself.  I 
am  too  low,  too  mean,  —  yes,  Anna,  too  wicked,  —  ever  to  be 
called  a  child  of  God  !  Is  there  a  life  beyond  this  ?  If  so, 
what  can  I  do  there  ?  I,  who  have  lived  weakly,  shall 
always  be  weak  here,  how  low,  how  mean,  —  the  thought 
of  what  I  shall  be  there  is  too  dreadful  for  me !  I  find,  in 
all  my  doubts,  I  must  needs  believe  in  a  future  life,  —  else  I 
would  almost  rejoice.  Do  not  shudder,  Anna,  at  the  thought 
of  extinction !  Anna,  I  have  lived  too  long  without  a  thought 
of  God,  to  know  now  where  he  is,  or  how  to  find  him.  I 
can  acknowledge  the  beauty  of  a  religious  life.  I  fancied, 
if  I  sought  after  it,  I  could  find  it.  But  now  I  feel  I  have 
not  the  strength  for  it.  I  fear  there  is  no  repose  in  it, 
and  that  I  must  sink  back  into  my  former  sleep,  or  die. 
If  I  could  but  close  my  eyes,  and  wake  no  more !  Tell  me 
if  there  is  any  hope  for  such  as  I,  —  if  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  faith,  as  trust,  —  and  if  these  bring  repose !  There  are 
many  that  love  you,  —  you  have  much  love  to  spare.  But 
when  I  think  of  my  weakness,  even  my  despair,  I  feel  it  is 
no  more  than  my  desert,  to  be  forsaken  of  all,  —  even  by 
God!" 

When  Anna  had  read  this  letter,  she  went  to  her  father, 
and  read  to  him  a  part  of  it.  She  begged  him  that  he 
would  let  her  go,  even  if  she  went  alone,  to  Gertrude. 

"  Gertrude  seems  in  sad  need  of  a  friend.  She  left  here 
perhaps  before  she  was  strong  enough  to  bear  such  a  journey; 
and  this  great  sorrow  has  added  to  her  weakness,  to  break 
her  down.  If  it  were  a  fever  that  she  were  ill  of  now,  you 
would  let  me  go  on  to  her ;  and  is  not  this  far  harder  for 
her  to  bear  alone  than  the  heaviest  bodily  suffering?" 

"  Is  not  this  a  struggle,  Anna,  that  she  needs  to  go  through 
alone  ?  Gertrude  must  acquire  strength  out  of  herself,  some 
how.  Then,  is  not  this  merely  a  mood  of  sadness,  that  by 


214  MARGARET  PERCIVAL 

this  time  has  passed  away  with  her  ?  It  is  a  great  mistake 
that  people  make  in  writing  letters  in  these  moods.  They 
are  not  aware  what  effect  they  may  produce  upon  those  who 
receive  them.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  pour  out  these  ill  feelings, 
and  the  writer  has  dispersed  them,  perhaps,  in  the  act  of 
writing  them.  Indeed,  Anna,  you  must  consider  what  a 
journey  to  Baltimore  is,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  that 
it  ought  not  to  be  taken  on  a  mere  impulse." 

Anna  could  not  reply.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  answer 
enough  to  make.  If  Gertrude  had  been  her  own  sister, 
whether  she  had  been  ill  in  heart  or  in  body,  her  father 
would  have  surely  allowed  her  to  go  on,  and  give  what 
strength  she  might.  And  was  not  Gertrude  as  much  as 
any  sister  to  her  ?  But  she  made  no  answer ;  perhaps  she 
felt  no  desire  to  move  her  father  merely  by  her  entreaties. 

Margaret  returned  to  Wilton  early  in  the  evening.  Anna 
did  not  accompany  them ;  but  the  little  Havilands  went,  with 
great  delight,  and  Mr.  Newstead  drove  them ;  and  Anna 
lingered  till  their  return,  reading  to  her  father. 

Anna  went  early  to  her  chamber.  She  entered,  hoping 
to  meet  the  peace  that  usually  breathed  there.  It  was  a 
quiet,  pleasant  room,  that  had  collected  many  associations 
from  past  days.  There  was  the  window  where  her  desk 
was  placed,  —  where  she  sat  to  write ;  here,  the  window 
where  she  sat  at  work.  Certain  books  stood  on  the  shelf  by 
her  favorite  seat,  which  were  like  old  friends,  in  their  kindly 
expression ;  and  pleasant,  long-loved  pictures  looked  down 
from  the  walls  with  encouraging  glances. 

Anna  threw  a  shawl  about  her,  and  opened  the  window. 
The  windows  looked  out  upon  the  little  garden  that  lay 
between  the  house  and  the  hill  that  rose  behind  it.  It  was 
a  glorious  night,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  made  a 
brilliancy  almost  as  of  daylight.  The  air  was  clear  and 


IN    AMERICA.  215 

pure,  as  if  spirits  might  venture  to  dwell  in  it.  Anna 
looked  up  longingly  towards  the  stars  ;  —  how  she  wished 
through  this  clear  atmosphere  she  might  breathe  some  mes 
sage  of  strength  towards  Gertrude  !  Why  was  it  not  possible, 
she  asked,  with  will  so  strong  as  hers,  and  the  support  she 
wished  to  send  so  spiritual,  —  why  was  it  not  possible, 
through  this  undisturbed  air,  to  send  it  as  directly  as  though 
she  bore  it  herself?  And  what  was  friendly  aid,  if  it  must 
needs  be  so  bounded  ?  Then  came  the  answer,  that  mortal 
aid,  and  the  strength  of  human  spirit,  was  so  limited,  that 
one  might  be  led  to  the  highest  strength  of  all.  It  has  been 
suggested,  that  when,  out  of  our  weakness,  we  wish  to  im 
part  a  strength  to  a  fellow-sufferer  dear  to  our  love,  we  may, 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  our  hearts,  implore  the  source  of 
highest  power  to  send  down  that  strength  we  are  too  weak 
to  convey.  How  it  is,  we  can  scarcely  tell ;  but  we  may 
believe  that  thus  feeble  as  we  are,  some  influence  may  arise 
from  ourselves  towards  Heaven,  to  gather  new  strength 
there,  and  then  descend,  a  double-fold,  a  God-protected 
blessing,  into  the  bosom  of  the  one  we  had  not  the  strength 
of  our  own  selves  to  protect,  or  venture  to  support. 

"  In  this  letter,"  wrote  Anna  to  Gertrude,  "  I  must  try  to 
send  you  myself.  Since  I  cannot  go,  you  must  try  to  give 
an  expression  to  what  I  write  you,  such  as  poor  words  can 
hardly  convey.  How  gladly  would  I  be  with  you,  to  offer 
you  what  strength  I  can  !  But,  to-night,  I  feel  my  own  weak 
ness.  I  wonder  why  I,  also  a  poor  child  of  doubt  and  dis 
trust,  should  venture  to  give  to  you  any  strength  and  com 
fort.  And  I,  in  the  peace  of  my  own  chamber,  feel  how 
much  nearer  you,  a  sufferer,  must  be  to  Him  who  loveth 
those  whom  he  chasteneth.  I  have  by  me  a  father,  mother, 
dear  friends,  whose  presence  cheers  me,  gives  me  strength  ; 
while  you,  with  your  heart  bowed  down  with  sorrow,  with 


216  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

unrest,  must  be  the  very  child  that  He,  who  watches  when 
the  sparrow  dies,  must  care  for  !  Does  he,  at  times,  seem  to 
withdraw  his  face  from  us  ?  Do  you  not  remember,  Ger 
trude,  how,  from  one  of  your  favorite  mountain  summits, 
we  have  watched  together  the  cloud-shadows  steal  over  the 
meadows  ?  Did  the  thought  ever  strike  us,  that  the  grain 
that  waved  beneath  the  shadow  was  bowing  with  sorrow 
that  it  had  lost  the  sun  for  a  while  ?  How  earnestly  would 
one  of  the  angel-spirits  that  are  watching  us  here,  —  how 
eagerly  would  such  an  one,  who  saw  us  bowed  down,  because 
we  could  not  for  a  while  see  God's  face  clearly,  —  bear  us  to 
some  mountain-height,  where  we  could  see  how  short  a  way 
above  us  floated  the  cloud,  —  for  how  short  a  moment  would 
the  veil  hang  before  us  ! 

"  Dear  Gertrude,  if  it  were  any  bodily  suffering  that  you 
were  to  bear,  you  would  take  it  nobly.  You  would  look  it 
in  the  face,  as  the  burthen  you  must  become  accustomed  to, 
and  learn  to  lift.  We  have  often  repeated  together  those 
words  of  the  holy  Theresa  —  <  Let  me  suffer,  or  else  let  me 
die ! '  and  have  thought  the  path  of  suffering  might  be  the  path 
that  would  lead  us  nearer  to  God.  Can  you  not,  then,  look 
upon  this  heart-sinking,  this  present  doubt,  as  one  of  these 
God-appointed  maladies,  that  must  be  borne  with  courage, 
like  all  bodily  pain  ?  Think,  a  moment,  what  it  is  you  admin 
ister  to  such  a  suffering.  There  is  this  and  that  outward 
remedy;  but  the  best  and  most  successful  requires  one 
thing,  —  patience.  These  remedies  must  have  time  to  work ; 
and,  to  get  over  this  time,  you  must  summon  up  patience. 
And  this  greater,  this  heavier  suffering,  can  be  treated  in  the 
same  way.  After  all  other  efforts,  we  must  call  in  patience. 

"  We  must  all  have  our  heavy  seasons  of  doubt ;  when, 
through  the  weakness  of  our  heart  or  body,  we  cannot  see 
God  clearly,  we  feel  as  if  he  were  withdrawn  from  us. 


IN   AMERICA.  217 

You  say  that  at  such  times  you  doubt  my  love  for  you ; 
and  even  then  you  reproach  yourself  for  this.  And  yet,  for 
this  you  might  find  some  excuse  ;  for  earthly  love  is  power 
less  at  times,  and  shrouded  by  circumstances ;  but  the  love 
of  God  for  us,  —  can  that  ever  fail  ?  Is  not  even  this  mo 
mentary  hiding  of  himself  from  us  what  he  has  chosen  for 
our  good  ?  As  far  as  ourselves  are  concerned,  we  must  look 
upon  it  as  a  malady  of  the  spirit,  which  we  must  bear  like 
other  illnesses.  We  must  repeat  to  ourselves  the  words, 
*  Have  patience  with  all  things,  but  chiefly  have  patience 
with  yourself ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  how  can  you  patiently 
bear  your  brother's  burden,  if  you  will  not  bear  your  oum?" 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  learn  to  wait.  When  one  is  anxious 
to  show  one's  faith  in  action,  it  is  very  hard  to  sit  quietly, 
and  have  only  one's  own  heart  to  look  into.  It  is  very  hard, 
when  a  friend  is  suffering  by  our  side,  to  have  to  sit  quietly, 
with  no  power  to  give  help,  and  only  the  remembrances  of 
neglected  opportunities  to  haunt  our  hearts.  For  that  rea 
son,  do  we  the  more  need  God's  help.  If  he  seem  to  be  far 
from  us,  so  must  we  lift  ourselves  up  the  more  earnestly  to 
him,  though  our  doubting  hearts  would  persuade  us  that  he 
does  not  hear. 

"  I  cannot  go  to  you,  Gertrude ;  and  perhaps  it  is  better 
that  it  is  so ;  —  for  it  is  not  human  aid  that  you  need,  for 
the  heavenly  aid  is  close  beside  you.  The  spirits  that 
watch  beside  the  bed  of  the  dying  hold  you,  too,  beneath 
the  shelter  of  their  wings ;  and  the  Highest  Spirit,  —  our 
Father,  —  who  is  summoning  one  child  home,  must  be 
drawing  the  other  only  the  nearer  to  him ! 

"  It  is  alone  that  we  must  enter  upon  death,  and  only  alone 
that  we  must  enter  upon  the  true  life  here.     And  yet,  only 
alone  in  the  earthly  sense ;  for  we  are  not  alone  while  the 
Father  is  with  us  ! 
19 


218  MARGARET    TERC1VAL 

"  Is  it  the  thought  of  our  sin,  that  puts  us  far  from  God  ? 
Such  a  thought  should  but  draw  us  the  nearer. 

"  'Our  God  requireth  a  whole  heart,  or  none ;  and  yet  he 
will  accept  a  broken  one  ! '  " 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

BEFORE  Margaret  had  left,  she  had  sympathized  deeply 
with  Anna,  in  her  sorrow  for  Gertrude.  Margaret  asked 
Anna  if  she  did  not  know  any  clergyman  in  Baltimore, 
whom  they  might  urge  to  visit  Gertrude,  and  who  might, 
perhaps,  strengthen  her. 

"I  wish,  indeed,  there  were  some  one,"  said  Anna, 
"  whom  she  might  rely  upon,  —  to  whom  she  might  appeal. 
And  yet,  perhaps,  my  father  is  right,  and  this  is  a  moment 
that  she  had  better  struggle  through  by  herself.  She  has 
sympathy  around  her,  which  must  help  her  to  bear  her 
outward  trials." 

"  But,  Anna,  if  there  were  a  clergyman,  one  of  the,  —  one 
of  my  own  Church,  how  much  he  might  aid  her,  by  calling 
upon  her  confessions,  —  by  speaking  to  her  with  authority ! 
Can  there  be  anything  more  elevating  to  one  in  doubt,  than 
the  voice  of  one  who  can  say,  '  This  is  the  truth  '  ? " 

"  Suppose,  Margaret,  in  our  ignorance,  we  should  send 
to  ask  the  aid  of  a  clergyman,  and  he  should  prove  a  Mr. 
Stanley !  —  O,  Margaret !  what  human  being  is  there  can  say 
such  and  such  is  the  truth  ?  But  do  not  misunderstand  me. 
A  clergyman,  a  man  of  God,  who  has  taken  up  his  calling 
from  an  earnestness  in  doing  his  duty,  and  with  an  eager 
searching  after  the  good,  must  have,  indeed,  learnt,  some 
where,  to  answer  the  most  difficult  questions  of  our  hearts. 


IN   AMERICA.  219 

He  has  found  out,  by  experience,  what  are  the  different 
trials  of  the  heart;  he  has  found,  from  the  words  of  Jesus, 
what  are  the  sources  of  comfort  for  the  broken-hearted; 
he  has  learnt  to  sympathize  in  others'  sorrows,  and  the 
path  of  duty  to  him  has  been  the  path  of  prayer.  Such  an 
one  might,  indeed,  be  able  to  speak  with  authority ;  for  the 
words  of  Christ  are  familiar  words  to  him,  and  it  might  be 
an  inexpressible  relief  to  Gertrude  to  appeal  to  him.  But 
there  are  certain  points  in  Gertrude's  trials,  that  she  must 
go  through  alone.  She  has,  in  part,  poured  out  to  me  her 
trials ;  but  she  must  have  deeper  ones  below.  It  is  not  con 
cerning  the  form  of  religion  that  she  is  uncertain.  Sh« 
doubts  whether  there  is  such  a  thing,  —  whether  the  God 
of  whom  she  has  always  heard  is  a  living  and  true  God. 
She  has  seen,  and  acknowledges,  that,  to  those  whom  she 
loves  and  respects,  He  is  so,  —  to  you  and  to  me.  But  she 
has  not  yet  found  the  strength  to  call  upon  Him  as  her  father, 
—  to  throw  all  her  doubts  and  her  fears  upon  Him  who  careth 
for  us.  At  such  a  time,  I  feel  she  is  nearer  God  than  you 
or  I,  —  than  the  most  learned  man  of  the  world,  —  preacher 
or  theologian ;  for,  while  she  is  thus  groping  after  Him,  we 
may  be  sure  that  she  will  find  Him,  sooner  or  later.  I 
would  wish  to  go  to  her  now,  because  I  see  that  a  great 
part  of  her  weakness  arises  from  bodily  weakness,  and  I 
might  help  to  soothe  it.  I  do  not  think  I  could  offer  her 
other  aid." 

Margaret  recalled  the  time  when  a  human  arm  interposed 
between  her  and  temptation.  She  began  to  ask  herself 
whether,  had  it  not  been  for  that  interposition,  she  had 
yielded,  — had  fallen  into  the  sin  of  Catholicism.  But  she 
hushed  the  question,  as  she  had  lately  hushed  all  questions. 

The  next  day,  when  Mr.  Wilkie  came  home  from  the 
factories,  he  told  Anna  that  he  found  a  certain  patent 


220  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

business  would  call  him  to  Washington ;  that  he  thought 
he  might  perhaps  accomplish  it  as  well  now  as  later  in  the 
season ;  and,  in  consideration  of  her  earnest  desire  to  go  to 
see  her  friend  Gertrude,  he  would  take  Anna  with  him. 
He  could  not  leave  till  the  next  day,  and  he  must  be  a  day 
in  New  York.  But  Anna  was  willing  to  bear  the  delay, 
when  she  found  she  might,  indeed,  see  Gertrude,  and  be 
with  her  before  the  end  of  the  week. 

Anna  was  therefore  prepared  at  the  appointed  time,  — 
had  bade  farewell  to  Margaret,  who  agreed  to  be  with  Mrs. 
Wilkie  as  much  as  possible,  —  and  found  herself  actually 
seated  in  the  cars,  on  her  way  to  Baltimore. 

Travelling  was  a  new  enjoyment  to  her,  and  exhilarated 
her.  Sne  rejoiced  in  every  new  object  that  met  her  eye, — 
the  mountains  covered  with  snow,  and  all  the  magnificent 
beauty  of  the  winter  scenery,  attracted  her  without,  while 
she  found  pleasure,  too,  in  watching  her  fellow-passengers, 
and  listening  to  their  occasional  conversation  with  her 
father,  within. 

"I  met  your  father,"  said  one  of  their  companions  to 
Anna,  "  last  spring,  and  I  was  reminded,  in  summer,  of 
something  he  said  to  me.  I  was  complaining,  as  farmers 
are  apt  to  do,  of  the  late  frost,  that  cut  off  our  promise  of 
fruit,  and  groaning  at  what  we  should  do  without  it.  You 
gave  me,  Mr.  Wilkie,  somewhat  of  a  sermon,  upon  my 
making  trouble  before  the  day  of  trouble  came.  It  turned 
out  that  we  had  more  fruit  upon  our  trees  than  anybody 
could  eat.  I  hear  it  even  rotted  in  the  market ;  for  every 
body  was  so  afraid  of  the  cholera,  no  one  would  eat  it.  So, 
first  we  groaned  because  we  should  not  have  fruit  to  eat, 
and  next  we  groaned  because  we  could  not  eat  that  we  had. 
SID  we  might,  at  least,  have  saved  our  first  groaning." 


IN    AMERICA.  221 

"  And  the  second,  too,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  "  in  the  faith 
that  since  the  first  dispensation  was  not  an  unmerciful  one, 
the  second  might  have  its  benefits  and  its  uses  too." 

At  Springfield,  a  Mr.  Smith  joined  them,  who  had  met 
Mr.  Wilkie  before,  and  who  attached  himself  to  Anna  most 
perseveringly,  and  proved  something  of  a  bore.  He  had 
one  idea,  which  no  turn  of  conversation  could  drive  him 
from.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Congress,  to  see  if  he  could 
not  get  a  law  passed  for  the  benefit  of  authors,  to  prevent 
their  characters  from  being  stolen  out  of  their  books.  He 
was  an  agent  for  many  English,  as  well  as  American 
authors. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  asked  Anna,  when  Mr.  Smith  first 
spoke  of  this,  "  a  law  of  copyright  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Miss  Wilkie ;  it  is  far  less  commonplace. 
This  law  is  to  prevent  one  of  the  most  heinous  of  plagia 
risms,  —  that  of  dragging  the  dramatis  personse  out  of  one 
book,  to  decorate  another.  Imagine  the  feelings  of  an 
author,  who,  with  all  the  talent  and  genius  he  was  capable 
of,  has  wrought  out  the  form  of  a  hero  or  heroine,  —  it  may 
have  been  the  work  of  a  lifetime,  —  what  are  his  sensations, 
to  see  this  favorite  work  of  his  mind  brought  into  the  pages 
of  a  second-rate  writer,  who  has  seized  upon  a  borrowed 
hero  or  heroine,  because  he  had  not  the  wit  to  make  one 
for  himself." 

Anna  remarked,  she  did  not  know  such  piracy  was  com 
mon. 

Mr.  Smith  went  on. 

"It  is  worse  than  an  author's  stealing  a  whole  book. 
What  would  Powers  do,  to  see  his  Head  of  Proserpine 
placed,  by  some  pirate  of  sculpture,  on  his  own  figure  of 
Joan  of  Arc  ?  You  smile,  Miss  Wilkie ;  but  such  incon 
sistencies  are  not  infrequent." 
19* 


222  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

And  Mr.  Smith  went  on  to  relate  several  instances  of 
such  theft,  which  had  lately  occurred. 

It  was  a  fine  night  on  the  Sound,  and  Anna  sat  on  deck, 
watching  the  waves  that  would  not  be  bound  in  ice  by  the 
cold  winds.  Her  father  was  talking,  at  a  little  distance, 
upon  the  last  speech  in  Congress.  Even  here,  Mr.  Smith 
followed  her. 

"  You  are  admiring  the  moon,  and  no  wonder !  You 
have  a  right  to  the  moon,  —  every  one  has  a  right  to  the 
moon ;  —  there  is  no  borrowed  property  here." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  wrong,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Anna,  a  little 
disturbed,  perhaps;  "  the  moon  is  one  of  the  borrowers.  She 
takes  all  her  light  from  the  sun ;  and  she  ought  to  come 
among  the  list  of  those  you  proscribe.  And  we  all  follow 
her  example,  too ;  we  are  very  dependent  each  upon  the 
other,  and  must  all  borrow  something." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  "  I  yield ;  I  never  argue  with  a 
lady ;  ladies  do  not  understand  argument.  I  find  it  always 
ends  in  their  flying  to  metaphysics,  and  there  I  cannot 
follow  them." 

Anna  wished  she  might  fly  to  metaphysics,  if  she  could 
have  a  hope  of  Mr.  Smith's  not  following  her;  and  she  took 
refuge  with  her  father,  who  proposed  a  quick  walk  on  the 
deck,  before  she  should  retire  to  her  cabin. 

Anna  was  received  very  cordially  by  Mrs.  Newton,  in 
New  York,  notwithstanding  Mrs.  Newton  was  in  full  prep 
aration  for  a  large  ball  that  evening.  But  she  succeeded 
in  making  Anna  feel  at  home,  insisting  upon  her  resting 
herself  in  the  morning,  and  afterwards  letting  Isabel  and 
one  of  her  sons  carry  her  to  all  that  would  interest  her  most 
in  New  York,  that  she  could  see  in  one  day.  She  also 
prevailed  upon  her  to  be  present  at  the  ball,  in  the  evening. 
Anna  scarcely  felt  the  spirit  for  a  ball ;  but  she  yielded  to 


IN    AMERICA.  223 

Mrs.  Newton's  request.  She  felt  as  if  it  might  be  as  good 
for  her  as  to  go  over  and  over  again,  —  as  she  was  inclined 
to,  when  by  herself,  —  her  approaching  meeting  with  Ger 
trude, —  wondering  how  she  should  find  her,  and  almost 
dreading  her  first  outbreak  of  sadness  and  despair. 

What  a  contrast  was  the  present  scene  to  all  such 
thoughts !  Yet  there  was  something  pleasant  in  being  a 
looker-on  in  such  a  gay,  bewildering  scene,  —  for  every  face 
was  strange  there  except  those  of  Mrs.  Newton's  family. 
The  brilliant  music  excited  her.  She  felt  very  glad  she 
was  not  one  of  the  actors,  for  she  feared  her  head  might 
grow  too  dizzy.  As  it  was,  she  was  at  liberty  to  listen  quietly 
to  music  such  as  had  never  met  her  ear  before.  As  she 
passed  through  the  rooms,  George  Newton  told  her  some 
thing  of  the  different  persons  they  met,  and  the  names  and 
histories  of  the  different  brilliant  beauties  of  the  night.  One 
or  two  of  the  gentlemen  were  introduced  to  her ;  but  she 
felt  herself  too  tired,  and  too  bewildered,  to  make  herself 
agreeable,  or  to  get  beyond  the  common  party  talk ;  and 
perhaps  George  was  not  successful  in  his  selections.  She 
was  very  glad  when  she  could,  at  last,  ensconce  herself  in 
a  quiet  corner,  where  she  could,  unobserved,  watch  what 
was  going  on.  The  music  came  to  her  in  rich  and  flowing 
strains ;  young  and  happy  faces  were  before  her ;  admiring 
mothers  were  looking  upon  their  daughters.  Presently 
Anna  raised  her  eyes  to  a  painting  on  the  wall  opposite. 
It  was  of  a  misty  coloring,  representing  a  light,  girlish  figure, 
surrounded  with  floating  hair.  The  delicate  blue  eyes 
looked  out  bewilderingly  upon  the  scene  below,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  vague  outline  of  the  figure  wrould  melt 
away  with  the  music.  George  Newton  had  told  Anna  this 
was  a  picture  of  one  of  Scott's  heroines,  and  had  left  her  to 
guess  who  it  was.  Anna  was  rather  glad  to  fancy  it  whom 


224  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

she  pleased,  and  admired  the  contrast  between  its  quiet 
loveliness  and  the  brilliant  gayety  it  seemed  to  look  upon. 
It  faded,  —  it  grew  bright  again,  —  sometimes  it  seemed  to 
gaze  at  her  beseechingly,  as  if  to  ask  if  it  might  not  float 
away.  At  last,  Anna  fancied  the  supplicating  glance  of  the 
eye  was  like  that  of  Gertrude ;  and  a  tone  and  a  voice  came 
to  her,  like  Gertrude's,  with  words  she  had  heard  Gertrude 
utter,  —  "  To  be  in  the  world,  yet  not  of  the  world !  " 

When,  at  last,  Anna's  head  rested  upon  the  pillow,  and 
all  was  still  again  in  the  house,  that  had  been  so  echoing 
with  gay  voices  and  music,  she  slept,  but  not  quietly.  She 
was  visited  with  dreams.  She  fancied  she  stood  on  the 
sea-shore  with  Gertrude,  —  with  Gertrude,  who  wore  the 
same  long  golden  hair,  and  beseeching  glance,  the  figure  in 
the  picture  wore.  The  moon  left  a  white  path  on  the  sea ; 
and  Gertrude  insisted  she  would  walk  out  upon  it,  and 
meet  the  moon.  Anna  followed  her,  when  soon  Gertrude's 
courage  failed,  —  she  sank,  but  in  Anna's  arms.  Anna 
bore  her  to  the  shore,  and  some  one  seemed  to  help  her 
raise  Gertrude's  fainting  figure.  As  she  turned,  to  see  who 
was  with  her,  she  met  the  face  of  Mr.  Smith.  "  Tell  me, 
Miss  Wilkie,"  he  inquired,  "  is  she  original  ? " 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

AT  last,  Anna  had  arrived  in  Baltimore.  She  had  stayed 
a  day  in  Philadelphia,  and  had  met  there  an  old  school 
friend. 

On  her  arrival  in  Baltimore  with  her  father,  they  heard 
that,  the  day  before,  Aunt  Clara  had  died.  Mr.  Lester 
told  Mr.  Wilkie  that  she  had  passed  quietly  away,  without 


IN    AMERICA.  225 

apparent  suffering-.  Anna  went  eagerly  to  Gertrude,  and, 
on  meeting  her,  Gertrude  wept  bitterly. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  —  how  glad,  I  cannot  tell !  " 

Gertrude  afterwards  was  able  to  speak  of  her  Aunt  Clara's 
death,  —  of  how  gently  and  beautifully  it  had  approached  her. 

"  She  was  able  to  say  a  few  words  to  me,  on  the  last  day, 
—  words  which  I  shall  never  forget.  They  were  as  full  of 
faith  as  her  life  had  been.  '  This  is  not  death,'  she  said ; 
1 1  am  entering  upon  a  fresher  life.'  I  said,  '  If  I  might 
only  hope  to  share  it ! '  —  for  Aunt  Clara  seemed  then  so 
strong  I  did  not  restrain  myself.  Then  she  said,  '  It  will 
come  to  you,  here  ;  only  seek  after  it,  dear  Gertrude.'  O, 
Anna,  if  there  were  ever  any  one  ripe  for  a  higher  life,  she 
was  indeed  ready  !  " 

Afterwards,  Gertrude  came  to  speak  of  herself.  "  What 
a  sad  letter  I  wrote  to  you ;  and  how  like  yourself  you 
answered  it !  Let  me  tell  you,  that,  not  long  after  I  wrote 
to  you,  I  seemed  to  feel  some  relief  from  that  state  of  mind, 
when  I  suffered  more  grievously  than  you  can  ever  know. 
You  see  I  speak  of  it  as  something  of  the  past,  already. 
Aunt  Clara,  at  that  time,  wished  me  to  read  to  her  from  the 
Bible.  Gradually  the  words  came  to  me  with  a  new  sense 
and  power.  To  me,  I  say;  for,  before,  I  had  read  them  as 
if  not  addressed  to  myself.  At  first,  the  Psalms  touched 
me  most,  because  I  felt  they  were  the  words  of  a  human 
being,  —  one  who  had  occasionally  sinned,  —  who,  though 
beloved  of  God,  felt  an  abasement  before  him.  The  words, 
4  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for  the  living  God,'  rung  in 
my  ears,  —  upon  my  heart.  Then  came  the  calm,  beautiful 
words  of  Jesus  towards  me  — '  Not  the  righteous,  but  the  sin 
ner,  came  I  to  call  to  repentance  ; '  and  also  the  words, '  A 
bruised  reed  shall  he  not  break.'  I  longed  to  walk  towards 
him.  Then  it  was  my  Aunt  Clara  needed  all  my  thoughts 


226  MARGARET    PERCTVAL 

and  care.  And  when  the  hour  I  had  dreaded  had  come, 
had  gone,  —  when  her  lips  had  closed  forever,  and  her  eyes 
would  never  more  be  raised  to  smile  upon  me,  —  then  I 
looked  back  upon  myself.  For  once,  I  had  forgotten  myself; 
my  mind  had  been  filled  with  other  thoughts  ;  and  when  I 
looked  back  upon  my  heart,  it  seemed,  for  a  moment,  to  be 
healed.  A  new  peace  stole  into  it,  and  a  new  strength.  It 
was  as  if  the  spirit  that  seemed  to  pass  away  had  drawn 
nearer,  to  uphold,  to  sustain  me.  My  prayers,  that  had 
begun,  '  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  — 
Be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner  ! '  —  changed  to,  '  My  father, 
draw  near  thy  child,  very  weary  and  heavy  laden  !' 

"  O,  Anna  !  tell  me,  will  this  new  peace  pass  away  ?  Is  it 
too  sudden  to  be  a  true  peace  ?  And  yet,  I  do  not  call  it 
quite  peace  ;  it  is  a  hope  that  looks  forward  to  future  action 
to  bring  peace.  Aunt  Clara's  words  are  in  my  ears,  — '  A 
new  life  here ; '  —  I  hope  to  seek  after  this.  I  have  formed 
plans  for  the  future.  I  will  tell  them  you.  I  think  they 
will  have  your  approval ;  and  when  my  resolutions  fail  me, 
your  letter  shall  be  by  my  side,  to  strengthen  me." 

"  Not  that  alone,  Gertrude  ! " 

"  Ah,  no  !  But,  tell  me,  is  this  merely  an  excitement  I 
feel,  —  this  strength  that  rises  from  my  old  despair  ?  Can 
I  not,  indeed,  depend  upon  it?" 

"  It  may  be  excitement,  Gertrude,  but  not  the  less  to  be 
depended  upon.  Such  excitements  are  sent  to  us,  to  call 
us  out  from  ourselves,  —  from  our  old  ways.  The  death 
of  a  dear  friend,  —  the  passing  away  of  one  of  our  strong 
supports  here, — must  be  intended  for  some  great  purpose. 
We  must  listen  to  it,  —  must  obey  its  impulse.  If  we  let  this 
season  of  awakening  pass  away,  how  great  must  be  the 
shock  we  shall  need  to  awaken  us  anew !  If  we  do  not  let 
this  answer  its  purpose,  if  it  does  not  serve  to  show  us  our 


IN    AMERICA.  227 

Father,  then  have  we  allowed  a  great  opportunity  to  pass 
away.  It  is  the  voice  of  God ;  —  we  must  let  it  speak  to 
our  hearts. 

"  This  feeling  of  strength  may  indeed  be  only  for  the  pres 
ent.  It  may  be  as  foreign  to  your  nature  as  the  former 
season  of  despair ;  but  let  it  serve  to  lift  you  up  to  a  higher 
platform.  Entire  rest,  —  it  may  not  lift  us  up  to  that ;  —  but 
it  has  given  strength  to  conquer  one  temptation.  The  next 
may  be  of  a  higher  nature,  but  this  struggle  has  given 
power  to  meet  even  that ;  and  after  a  conquest,  Gertrude,  a 
struggle  is  not  so  fearful.  By  and  by,  you  will  smile  at  this 
longing  for  repose.  You  will  feel  that  action,  that  struggle, 
is  necessary  for  your  existence. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  can  call  this  a  sudden  feeling  that  has 
awakened  you.  Have  you  not,  a  long  time,  felt  a  desire 
for  a  stronger  life,  —  for  something  strong  to  lean  upon  ? 
At  least,  as  long  ago  as  last  September,  during  your  illness, 
we  spoke  together  of  such.  Do  you  remember  how  ear 
nestly  we  spoke  together  of  self-sacrifice  ?  And  now  you 
feel  the  right  moment  has  arrived." 

Gertrude  had  tasted  not  only  of  self-sacrifice,  but  of  self- 
forgetfulness.  She  had  learned,  perhaps,  the  difference 
between  the  two ;  for  the  earnestness  of  self-sacrifice,  even 
in  the  most  sincere,  creates  at  times  a  self-consciousness. 
Perhaps  this  is  what  we  may  trace  on  the  most  beauti 
ful  Magdalens,  by  Carlo  Dolci.  The  expression  of  the 
figure  is  that  of  self-abasement ;  —  the  beautiful  hair  falls 
neglected,  as  if  scarcely  worthy  wherewith  to  wipe  the  mas 
ter's  feet ;  the  hands  are  clasped  around  the  vase  of  precious 
ointment,  as  if  in  an  agony  of  repentance  ;  and  the  eyes  are 
raised  imploringly,  tearless.  But  around  the  mouth  there 
lingers  a  smile  of  self-consciousness,  that  takes  away  from, 
the  sincerity  of  the  expression,  unless  we  may  believe  that, 


228  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

in  the  glory  of  triumph,  there  can  be  allowed  one  moment 
of  self-satisfaction.  But  it  is  a  higher  state  of  progress, 
where  the  soul  has  passed  through  the  struggle  of  self-sac 
rifice  and  self-abasement,  and  reached  the  power  of,  —  at 
least,  for  a  few  moments,  —  of  forgetting  itself. 

There  are  times  when  the  soul,  earnest  after  good,  drives 
out  the  thought  of  itself,  earnestly  seeks  after  the  Father, 
and  enthrones  him  in  the  mansion  left  cleared  and  empty. 
These  are  the  high  moments  of  the  truest  prayer  and  self- 
devotion  ;  or,  they  are  moments  of  communion,  when  the 
soul  has  called  in  the  aid  of  friendly  spirits,  and  knocked  at 
the  door  of  Christ.  And  glorious  are  the  hours  of  self- 
abasement  ;  yet  sad  and  fearful,  when  the  soul  prostrates 
itself  before  God,  shuddering  at  its  own  darkness,  dazzled 
at  the  light  of  the  Most  High  ! 

But  the  hour  of  victory  is  when  the  soul  has  learned  to 
forget  itself.  There  are  some  who  pass  through  this  life 
with  this  joyous  mien  of  self-forgetfulness.  It  seems  no 
struggle  to  them  to  welcome  each  one  to  their  hearts,  with 
a  true  warmth,  —  to  pour  out  upon  those  around  them  a 
never-ceasing  flow  of  devotion.  Theirs  is  a  sunny  smile, 
that  nothing  clouds,  — an  energy  that  never  fails.  We 
praise  the  happy  temper  that  makes  their  life  so  easy,  and 
their  path  so  plain.  Their  visiting  on  earth  is  an  angelic 
visiting,  and  we  call  their  virtue  angelic,  —  it  seems  natural 
to  their  souls.  If  we  could  rend  the  veil  that  hangs  before 
their  hearts,  might  we  not  read  how  this  self-forgetfulness 
came  out  of  struggle  and  self-sacrifice  ?  Morning  and  even 
ing  prayer,  and  nightly  tears,  have  been  the  sacrifice ;  and 
new-born  resolutions,  each  day,  have  given  strength  for  the 
offering.  These  have  arisen  in  solitude,  and  have  required 
an  anxious  search  into  the  heart.  But  daily  action, — 
action  for  the  sake  of  good  to  others,  —  is  needed  to  pre- 


IN   AMERICA.  229 

serve  this  utter  forgetfulness  of  self.  These  must  indeed 
be  the  moments  when  the  soul,  like  Mary,  prostrates  itself 
at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  in  repentant  agony ;  but  it  must  come 
out  from  the  closet  of  devotion,  and  put  on  the  garb  of  Mar 
tha,  and  offer  up  every  separate  moment  for  the  good  of 
those  around,  in  order  to  find  the  happiness  of  a  true  self- 
abandonment. 

It  was  happy  for  Gertrude  that  there  was  a  path  plainly 
open  before  her.  It  is  very  hard  to  be  obliged  "  to  make  for 
one's  self  duties,  —  to  choose  self-denial,  only  to  have  an 
aim  in  life,  only  to  obey  the  call  for  consuming  occupation." 
It  was  more  fortunate  for  Gertrude  ;  yet  this  way  of  duty 
that  now  lay  before  her  had  never  before  seemed  so  clear. 
She  had  fancied,  before,  her  mind  was  not  fitted  to  take 
charge  of  her  father's  household,  —  that  her  self-cultivation 
would  be  interfered  with,  if  she  should  undertake  the 
education  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  —  that  she  needed 
herself  to  go  into  the  school  of  Nature,  and  to  seek  a  differ 
ent  circle  from  the  one  by  which  she  was  surrounded.  Be 
cause  the  society  she  mingled  in  was  not  at  the  time 
according  to  her  taste,  she  had  decided  to  retire  into  herself, 
and  find  communion  enough  in  Nature.  Now,  she  not  only 
believed  that  in  her  own  home  lay  her  true  duty,  —  the  duty 
that  was  nearest  her,  —  but  she  could  acknowledge  it  was 
even  best  for  her  own  improvement,  and  calculated  to 
strengthen  her  character ;  and  felt  as  if  she  might  almost 
welcome  the  trials  it  would  bring,  as  a  fresh  field  of  action. 
20 


230  MARGARET    PERC1VAL 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

WHEN  New  Year's  Eve  came,  Margaret  was  spending 
her  holidays  at  Mr.  Wilkie's.  She  sat,  after  they  had 
separated  for  the  night,  at  her  open  journal.  She  had  lost 
the  habit  of  making  an  entry  here  every  day;  but  she 
always  kept  the  book  by  her,  and  recurred  to  it,  when 
reminded  of  it,  with  peculiar  interest.  It  almost  always 
happened,  —  as,  probably,  it  does  to  all  journal  owners, — 
that  she  was  led  to  turn  back  over  its  pages  of  strange  vari 
ations  of  ink,  and  stranger  variations  of  emotion,  when  the 
end  of  the  year  came  round. 

As  Margaret  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  large  volume 
which  had  been  her  confidential  friend  when  she  had  no 
other  confidant,  she  could  almost  have  smiled  to  see  how 
those  pages  fell  open,  almost  of  themselves,  at  some  particu 
lar  passages,  which  bad  either  been  turning-points  of  her 
life,  or  had  contained  some  of  her  uncle's  most  important 
directions  for  her.  To-night,  however,  she  did  not  smile, 
consciously,  at  any  such  observation.  She  had  the  images 
of  all  the  past,  strangely  inwoven  with  all  the  present,  before 
her.  She  was  grave  and  thoughtful.  Her  thoughts  centred 
around  one  point,  namely,  her  increasing  intimacy  with  per 
sons  not  of  the  "  Church  of  England,"  and  her  questions  as 
to  whether  such  intimacy  were  or  were  not  dangerous. 

In  such  thought,  Margaret  did  not  smile  ;  but  she  did 
start,  when  the  subject  of  her  meditation  seemed  to  start 
out  from  the  page,  in  these  words  of  her  uncle.  How  well 
she  remembered  the  agony  of  heart  with  which  she  wrote 
them  there!  The  blisters  of  her  hot  tears  of  that  night 
were  still  upon  the  paper. 


IN    AMERICA.  231 

"  To  change  from  one  church  to  another,"  he  had  said, 
"  involves  the  possibility  of  a  sin,  from  which  we  pray  con 
tinually  to  be  delivered ;  that  sin  which  is  numbered  with 
sedition,  rebellion,  hardness  of  heart,  and  the  contempt  of 
God's  commandments,  —  the  sin  of  schism."^ 

"  Here  it  comes  up  again,"  said  Margaret,  sadly,  to  her 
self;  "the  one  thought  to  which  New  Year's  Eve  is  to  be 
given.  If  so,  I  will  think  it  out;"  and  she  took  her  pen, 
turned  to  a  fair  page  in  the  journal-book,  and  wrote,  in 
large,  clear  letters : 

"December  31st,  1849,  11.J  P.  M. 

"  What  is  schism  ? 

"  With  my  pen  in  my  hand,  I  shall  think  more  clearly. 
I  shall  not  go  over  and  over  again  the  same  ground. 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  my  uncle's  warning  against 
schism. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  sin. 

"  But  who  are  they  who  are  guilty  of  it  ? 

"It  is  only  to-day,  that,  as  I  read  the  Litany,  I  recol 
lected,  at  the  words  'from  all  false  doctrine,  heresy,  and 
schism,'  how  earnestly  Arthur  Newstead  repeated  them  at 
my  side,  when  we  were  together,  at  St.  James's  Church,  the 
other  day.  Yet,  I  think  my  uncle  would  call  him  a  schis 
matic,  if  he  heard  him  express  his  horror  of  uniformity. 

"  And  I  am  sure  that  horror  is  sincere." 

She  rose  from  the  table,  and  in  a  large  Cruden,  which 
she  had  brought  up  from  the  library  a  day  or  two  before, 
looked  for  the  word  schism,  in  the  Bible.  She  copied  the 
one  passage  where  it  occurs  in  our  version. 

"  1  Cor.  12 :  25.     That  there  should  be  no  schism  in  the 
*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  165. 


232  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

body ;  but  that  the  members  should  have  the  same  care  one 
for  another." 

Margaret  went  on  with  her  writing. 

"  This  is  the  chapter,  again,  which  Mr.  Harrod  quoted 
from,  that  same  day,  —  which  Mr.  Wilkie  is  so  fond  of.  I 
do  not  wonder. 

"  How  grandly  confident  it  is !  *  No  man  can  say,  that 
Jesus  is  the  Lord,  but  by  the  Holy  Ghost.'  Can  it  be,  — 
surely  it  says  so,  —  that  when  one  feels  that  '  Jesus  is  the 
Lord,'  he  is,  in  that  instant,  and  so  long  as  he  truly  says  so, 
the  receiver  of  the  Greatest  Spiritual  Gift  ?  That,  then,  in 
that  moment,  and  so  long  as  that  confession  is  true,  he  is  a 
member  of  the  body  of  which  Jesus  is  Head  ? 

"  Clearly  enough,  there  had  been  some  wild  division 
there.  Some  one  had  cursed  Jesus.  He  and  his  are  those 
whose  spiritual  gifts  the  Apostle  denies. 

"  And  those  who  said  *  Jesus  was  Lord '  said  the  truth,  — 
spoke  by  a  true  spirit,  —  a  holy  spirit,  or  the  Holy  Spirit : 
for  there  can  be  but  one. 

"  That  is  what  he  says.     He  must  have  meant  so. 

"  But  if  he  meant  so,  there  must  be  different,  very  differ 
ent  forms  of  worship. 

"Would  the  One  God  mean  that  his  children  should 
worship  him  in  such  different  ways  ? " 

And  then  her  eye  fell  on  the  verses  following,  of  which, 
in  this  same  connection,  she  had  been  reminded  before. 
Without  adding  a  word  to  them,  she  drew  a  bold  dash 
under  the  question  she  had  written  above,  and  copied,  in 
clear  hand : 

"  There  are  diversities  of  gifts,  but  the  same  Spirit. 


IN   AMERICA.  233 

"  There  are  diversities  of  administrations,  but  the  same 
Lord. 

"  There  are  diversities  of  operations,  but  it  is  the  same 
God  which  worketh  all  in  all." 

She  dashed  another  b^avy  line  across  the  paper,  and 
dropped  her  head  in  her  hands,  upon  the  table.  When  she 
rose  again,  it  was  to  write,  — 

"Of  course  there  are.  Do  I  not  know  that  our  Church 
only  claims  to  be  a  branch  of  the  Catholic  Church  Uni 
versal  ? 

"  Did  not  my  uncle  commend  to  me  even  some  books  of 
other  apostolic  churches  ?  That  brings  me  back  again.  It 
is  the  old  question  I  had  on  board  the  ship,  about  Mr. 
Ernest.  What  are  apostolic  churches  ? 

"  Or,  in  a  word,  I  am  where  I  began,  —  What  is 
schism  ? 

"  '  That  there  should  be  no  schism  in  the  body.'  The 
figure  of  the  body  is  the  same  as  that  used  through  the 
whole  chapter." 

She  turned  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  passage  "  As  the 
body  is  one,  and  hath  many  members,  *  *  *  *  so,  also, 
is  Christ."  She  read  the  whole  through  attentively,  till 
again  she  came  to  the  words  "that  there  should  be  no 
schism  in  the  body ;  but  that  the  members  should  have  the 
same  care  one  for  another." 

"  The  same  care  !"  said  Margaret,  aloud,  laying  down  her 
pen.  "  Then  one  church  is  as  much  bound  to  care  for 
another,  as  my  hand  to  save  my  eye,  or  my  eye  to  watch 
for  my  hand. 

"  And  it  is  the  same  thing  for  a  strong  church,  self-styled 
so,  to  say  of  a  weak  one,  '  I  have  no  need  of  thee,'  as  for 
20* 


234  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

the  comely  part  of  the  body  to  say,  to  the  uncomely,  ' I  have 
no  need  of  thee.'  " 

She  took  her  pen  again : 

"I  catch  myself  saying  <a  strong  church,'  or  'a  weak 
church.'  Of  course,  I  mean  a  strong  branch  of  the  Great 
Catholic  Church." 

Then,  after  a  minute's  pause,  she  added,  "  How  wrong 
it  has  been  to  speak  of  our  Episcopal  Church  as  '  The 
Church ! ' 

"  Henceforward  let  me  say,  '  My  branch  of  the  Church.' " 

She  ran  her  eye  back  again  over  her  journal.  There 
were  the  words  "the  English  Church,"  as  if  there  could  be 
but  one  branch  of  the  one  Church  of  Christ  in  England; 
«  the  Scotch  Church,"  as  if  Knox  and  all  the  Presbyterian 
martyrs  were  nothing ;  "  the  American  Church,"  a  phrase 
which  swept  out  all  her  new  friends,  except  the  Fetridges, 
the  Rosses,  and  the  Braces. 

And  even  her  uncle,  so  careful,  sometimes,  had  said  to 
her,  "  You  have  but  to  remember,  that  the  English  Church 
claims  to  be  the  true  Church.*  When  she  caught  sight  of 
that,  she  returned  to  her  writing,  made  a  reference  to  the 
passage,  and  added : 

4  This  was  not  my  uncle's  way.     He  would  have  said,  if 
he  had  thought,  —  he  must  have  said,  —  a  true  Church." 

Her  pen  stopped,  and  she  heaved  a  sigh,  from  a  thought 
which  had  made  her  sigh  often.  She  wrote  then : 

"  To  think  that  such  hastinesses  of  conversation,  jotted 
*  Margaret  Percival,  u.,  171. 


IN   AMERICA.  235 

down  here  by  a  poor  girl,  in  agony,  should  have  gone  into 
print,  to  be  read  by,  —  who  knows  who,  —  or  where  ?  " 

She  walked,  back  and  forth,  across  her  room,  replenished 
the  fire,  lighted  another  lamp,  read  again  the  12th  chapter 
of  Corinthians,  and  again  sat  in  thought. 

Then  she  wrote  slowly,  and  in  a  careful  hand-writing, 
with  that  earnest  desire  to  be  accurate,  which,  through  such 
a  medium  as  hand-writing  only,  gives  a  physiognomy  to  our 
journals  and  our  letters  : 

"  There  is  to  be  as  much  honor  given  to  one  member  of 
the  body  as  another,  that  there  be  no  schism. 

"  There  would  be  schism,  if  one  member  said  to  another, 
' I  have  no  need  of  thee.' 

"  Paul  tried  to  hinder  that." 

Stopping  and  thinking,  she  wrote  again,  half  uncon 
sciously  : 

"  There  would  be  schism,  if  one  member  said  to  another, 
'/  have  no  need  of  thee.' " 

And  then  she  added,  more  hastily,  and  she  shut  the  book 
upon  the  words  as  she  had  written  them : 

"  If,  then,  every  one  who  says  Jesus  is  the  Lord  is  moved 
by  the  Very  Holy  Spirit  of  God,  —  is,  therefore,  a  member 
of  The  Body  of  which  Christ  is  Head,  —  why,  then,  — 

"  That  person  who  speaks  of  her  branch  of  the  Church  as 
The  Church,  or,  to  any  person  acknowledging  Jesus  as  Lord, 
says,  ' I  have  no  need  of  thee,'  she  is  guilty  of  schism,  if  of 
nothing  else. 

"  Queen  of  schismatics ! 

'  Banner-bearer  of  Division  ! " 


236  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

She  began  to  undress  herself.  But,  before  she  extin 
guished  her  light,  she  took  her  pen  again. 

"  I  wrote  in  excitement,  though  I  tried  to  be  so  cool.  I 
suppose  this  is  the  truth  :  — 

"  That  any  member  which  exaggerates  its  own  import 
ance  above  any  other  member,  is  most  guilty  of  the  sin  of 
schism." 

After  she  had  retired  to  bed,  but  long  before  she  slept, 
Margaret  wondered  whether  Arthur  Newstead,  in  praying 
to  be  delivered  from  schism,  was  thinking  of  persons  who 
call  Episcopalians  "Churchmen"  and  "  Churchwomen,"  as 
if  there  were  no  other  "  Churchmen."  And  a  set  of  such 
questions  fell  upon  her,  till  she  dropped  asleep.  Then  she 
dreamed,  —  it  came  of  the  talk  about  budding,  a  few  days 
before,  —  that  she  was  cutting  off,  with  her  garden  scissors, 
all  the  branches,  but  one,  of  a  fruit-tree ;  —  that  her  uncle 
was  standing  by,  hindering  her  when  she  cut  at  some,  and 
encouraging  her  when  she  cut  at  others;  while  Arthur 
Newstead  seemed  to  be  putting  sticks  into  the  way  of  the 
shears,  all  the  time,  as  she  moved  them. 

But  her  dreams  did  not  last  long,  before  she  sank  into 
unbroken  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

A  CHORUS  of  "  Happy  New  Year  "  cheered  the  Wilkie's 
breakfast  table.  It  was  their  first  breakfast  after  Anna  and 
her  father  had  returned.  It  was  a  glorious  morning,  and 
they  all  came  together  in  fit  cheer  for  the  beginning  of  the 
new  year.  Then  followed,  for  the  twentieth  time,  the  dis- 


IN   AMERICA.  237 

cussion  of  the  last  week,  whether  or  no  a  new  half-century 
had  begun.  Then,  just  before  the  family  rose  from  break 
fast,  Anna  said, 

"  How  different  the  last  hour  of  night  from  the  first  of 
morning!  —  how  different  to  our  feelings,  I  mean." 

"  Everybody  smiles,"  said  her  father,  "  and  some  of  us 
smile  gravely.  It  would  be  worth  while  to  know  what  we 
all  thought  over,  in  the  last  hour  of  the  last  year." 

Margaret  did  not  shudder,  but  it  was  hard  to  repress  a 
shudder ;  and  she  was  really  relieved  when  Mrs.  Wilkie 
said  that  none  of  them  would  be  willing  to  tell  the  whole, 
and  that  half  would  be  worse  than  nothing. 

"What  would  happen,"  asked  Anna,  in  a  meditative, 
really  inquiring,  doubtful  mood,  which  did  not  seem  like 
her  —  "what  would  happen  if  everybody  did  what  he 
resolves  upon,  just  before  going  to  bed?  If  we  carried  out 
the  enthusiasms,  schemes,  dreams,  plans  and  hopes,  of  the 
winding  up  of  our  day,  instead  of  going  to  work,  as  we  do, 
in  the  morning,  with  clear  heads,  and  hearts  beating  more 
methodically  ?  " 

"  The  world  would  be  saved  ! "  said  Arthur  Newstead. 
"  It  would  be  new  made,  —  new  born  !  " 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Wilkie,  "  that  more  people  would 
go  to  Jerusalem." 

"We  should  have  more  variety,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkie. 
"  Tuesday  would  be  very  little  like  Monday ;  and  Wednes 
day  would  not  recognize  Tuesday." 

"Aunt  Anna,"  whispered  Julia  Haviland  to  her,  "I 
should  give  up  better  to  Fanny.  I  always  mean  to,  when  I 
say  my  prayers,  and  go  to  sleep.  But  next  day  I  forget." 

This  was  as  they  left  the  table.  Margaret  went  imme 
diately  to  her  room. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  she  to  herself,   "  that  I  am  less 


23S  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

excited  and  more  cool  than  I  was  last  night,  or  I  do  not 
know  where  I  might  have  gone.  Now  I  can  do  what  is 
sensible,  arid  what  I  ought  to  have  done,  a  week  ago,  or 
more. 

"  O  dear !  —  I  wish  my  uncle  was  here ! "  she  said,  aloud. 

And  then,  opening  her  desk,  she  began  the  note  to  Mr. 
Ross,  the  clergyman  which  she  had  been  long  hearing. 

MARGARET   TO    MR.    ROSS. 

"Mr.  Willtie's,  Jan.  1,  1850. 
"  MY  DEAR  MR.  Ross  :  — 

"  A  happy  New  Year  to  you  and  Mrs.  Ross." 

So  far  was  very  easy.  But  here  Margaret's  usually 
ready  pen  stopped.  She  took  another  piece  of  paper,  and 
began  to  draw  pictures  on  it.  There  was  Mr.  Harrod's 
pulpit.  Then,  a  myriad  of  little  square  windows.  Then,  a 
profile  of  her  uncle.  Then,  a  kneeling  figure  in  a  surplice, 
meant  for  her  brother  George.  Then,  on  that  page,  she 
wrote :  — 

"  DEAR  MR.  Ross  :  — 

"  What  is  Schism  ? 
•  "  May  I  read  Sterling's  Hymns  ? 

"  Do  you  think  it  safe  for  me  to  stay  here  at  Mr. 
Wilkie's? 

"  Can  you  lend  me  Furness'  Family  Prayers,  or  is  it  not 
a  book  for  a  Church  woman  ?  " 

Then  she  scratched  out  Church  woman,  and  wrote  —  "  for 
one  of  our  branch  of  the  Church  to  read." 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  that  is  what  I  want  to  ask  him ! 
What  a  pity  I  cannot  send  the  questions  just  so !  But  I 
must  try  my  eloquence  du  billet."  And  she  pushed  aside 
her  scribbling  paper,  and  again  took  the  sheet  of  note  paper. 


IN    AMERICA. 

"  In  a  conversation  with  a  friend,"  she  wrote,  "  he  spoke 
so  highly  of  Sterling's  Poems,  that — " 

She  stopped,  took  another  sheet  of  paper,  and  began 
again.  Having  passed  through  new  year,  she  went  on 
thus :  — 

"My  dear  uncle,  the  clergyman  whom  I  have  always 
most  trusted,  has  taught  me  never  to  tamper  *  with  Romish 
books,  either  of  doctrine,  instruction,  or  devotion.  He 
taught  me  that  the  last,  because  I  imbibed  their  spirit 
unconsciously,  from  admiring  the  holy  and  elevated  spirit 
which  breathed  through  many  of  them,  were  the  most  dan 
gerous,  coming  to  me  at  unguarded  moments.  Do  you 
think  there  is  the  same  danger  in  the  devotional  books  of 
Latitudinarian  —  " 

She  scratched  out  "Latitudinarian,"  and  wrote,  "of 
Dissenters.  A  friend  of  mine,"  — 

Here,  again,  she  stopped.  "  I  have  spoiled  the  sheet !  " 
said  she.  "  I  will  go  and  see  him.  There  is  Uncle 
Andrew's  sleigh,  at  the  door,  now.  How  absurd  to  write, 
when  one  can  talk ! " 

Uncle  Andrew  was  only  too  glad  to  have  a  companion. 
A  brisk  sleigh-ride  brought  them  to  the  parsonage. 

"No,"  said  Margaret,  smiling,  to  Mrs.  Ross'  kindly 
invitation  to  her,  to  come  "  right  up  stairs  into  the  nursery," 
—  "  no,  thank  you ;  my  call  is  for  Mr.  Ross,  this  morning." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  engaged.  A  gentleman  has  just  come 
to  him,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Mr.  Harrod." 

Margaret  found  it  so.  The  engagement,  of  course,  of 
Mr.  Ross,  would  not  have  troubled  her.  But  when  she 
found  that  the  gentleman  was  an  agent  of  the  American 
Bible  Society,  who  had  come  to  see  Mr.  Ross  on  business 

*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  248. 


240  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

connected  with  the  distribution  of  Bibles  in  the  country,  in 
which  Mr.  Harrod,  also,  was  interested,  she  felt  as  if  one 
of  her  main  questions,  on  the  connection  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  in  America  with  other  religious  organizations,  was 
in  a  way  to  be  answered  before  she  had  asked  it. 

The  gentlemen  were  evidently  busy,  so  she  withdrew  into 
the  nursery.  Mrs.  Ross  welcomed  her  cordially.  Marga 
ret  saw  that  she  interrupted  a  sort  of  home  school.  She 
begged  them  to  go  on,  saying  that  she  was  used  to  that 
duty  herself,  at  home ;  and,  indeed,  she  made  herself  so 
much  at  home  with  little  Alice,  that  Belle  soon  went  on 
with  her  occupation  with  her  mother. 

"  Mr.  Ross  has  given  Belle,  for  her  New  Year's  present, 
this  pretty,  new  edition  of  Watts's  Songs,"  said  Mrs.  Ross. 
"  And,  for  her  New  Year's  lesson,  Belle  is  learning,  — 

"  Great  God,  with  wonder  and  with  praise 
On  all  thy  works  I  look." 

"  My  question  about  John  Sterling  is  answered,  then," 
said  Margaret  to  herself.  She  looked  up,  a  little  puzzled, 
to  Mrs.  Ross.  "  You  are  not  afraid  to  let  the  children  read 
Watts's  Hymns  ? " 

"  Afraid  ?  no  !  —  some  of  them  are  poor;  but  I  trust  them 
to  forget  that," 

"  I  meant,  —  I  thought,  —  in  short,  I  was  under  Roman 
influences  at  one  time,  and  my  uncle,  a  clergyman,  charged 
me  .to  give  up  all  Roman  books  of  devotion.  I  have  doubted, 
—  whether,  —  here,  —  where  all  the  influences  seem  so 
much  those  of  Dissent,  —  I  ought  not  give  up  all  books  of 
Dissenters,  for  the  same  reason." 

"  O  ! "  was  the  amazed  reply  of  poor  Mrs.  Ross.  "  I 
never  thought  of  any  danger." 

"  You  know  Watts  died  a  Unitarian." 


IN   AMERICA.  241 

"  Yes !  —  though  I  do  not  know  what  the  Unitarians  do 
with  all  his  hymns.  Somehow,  the  Psalms  of  David  are 
in  the  Prayer-book.  I  can't  think  this  little  book  will  ever 
hurt  Belle." 

Poor  Belle  stood,  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  wondering 
what  was  the  matter  with  her  New  Year's  present. 

"I  do  not  believe  my  husband,  —  I  do  not  believe  we  are 
so  timid  in  such  points  as  you  are  in  England.  I  think  we 
have  Dissenters,  as  you  call  them,  for  teachers  in  our  Sun 
day-school.  Young  men  and  women  who  have  never  been 
confirmed,  and  perhaps  do  not  assent  to  all  the  Articles ; 
but  are  glad  to  be  of  use,  and  whom  we  are  glad  to  call 
in,  any  way.  You  know  ours  is  the  only  Church  in  the 
village." 

"  Then  there  can  be  two  Churches  in  an  American 
village  ! "  said  Margaret  to  herself,  as  she  went  down  stairs, 
in  answer  to  a  message  from  Mr.  Ross. 

Margaret  opened  frankly  with  Mr.  Ross  on  what  she 
wanted.  She  told  him  that  her  uncle  was  a  clergyman ; 
that  he  had  taught  her  that  a  member  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  should  apply  to  a  teacher  of  it  for  light  in  such  diffi 
culties  as  she  was  in,  and  not  attempt  to  work  them  out  by 
a  layman's  unassisted  counsel;  —  that,  therefore,  she  had 
come  to  him.  For,  that  she  found  herself  more  and  more 
attracted  and  interested  by  Dissenters  ;  that  they  had  made 
no  attempt  to  remove  her  from  the  communion  of  her  own 
Church,  —  of  her  own  branch  of  the  Church.  But  that, 
without  any  effort  of  theirs,  she  began  to  feel  that  their 
arrangements  answered  their  purpose.  She  could  not  feel, 
as  she  once  did,  a  cool  satisfaction  that  all  Dissenters  were 
in  terrible  danger.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  that  they  were 
in  any  danger  at  all. 

She  told  him  that  once  she  had  supposed  that  the  unity 
21 


242  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

of  the  Christian  Church  was  to  be  gained  only  by  all 
Dissenters  joining  an  Episcopal  system ;  —  but  that  lately 
she  had  been  tempted  to  think  that  the  less  uniformity 
existed,  there  more  unity  might  be.  She  told  him  that  her 
uncle  had  taught  her  that  "  Unitarians  calling  themselves 
Christians,"  "  Baptists  enforcing  adult  baptism,"  "  Wes- 
leyans,  Independents,  and  the  countless  sects  of  the  present 
day,"  could  not  make  up  the  "one  body"  described  by  St. 
Paul ;  #  —  that  she  had  believed  him,  because  he  was  her 
teacher ;  but  that  lately  she  knew  her  belief  to  that  extent 
was  weakened. 

"  I  formerly  thought,"  continued  she,  "  that  there  could 
be  no  liberality  among  Dissenters,!  such  as  I  was  inclined 
to  practise  ;  but  here  I  have  been  welcomed,  with  the  utmost 
liberality,  by  Dissenters  of  every  wing.  I  had  supposed 
they  were  all  strenuously  asserting  their  own  rights ;  but 
here  there  seems  no  need  to  assert  them. 

"Again,"  said  she,  "my  uncle  once  blamed  me  for 
speaking  of  a  Unitarian  clergyman.^  I  find  I  fall  into  such 
language  here,  again ;  and  I  cannot  recall  the  argument  by 
which  he  showed  me  I  was  wrong,  if,  indeed,  he  made  any. 
Of  taste,  I  am  hardly  willing  to  speak.  I  never  ought  to 
have  thought  of  it,  in  a  question  of  principle.  But  I  did ;  — 
and  straws  show  the  wind.  I  remember  saying,"  —  and 
she  blushed,  —  "at  a  very  trying  time  of  my  life,  that  I 
could  not  endure  extemporaneous  prayers  and  preachings.^ 
I  had,  perhaps,  never  heard  five ;  and  my  experience  on  ship 
board,  and  my  experience  here,  has  even  changed  my  feeling 
of  taste.  I  am  greatly  impressed,  sometimes,  - —  I  join,  very 
cordially,  —  in  Mr.  Wilkie's  family  prayers ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  a  habit  of  devotion  which  was  good  enough  for 

*  Margaret  Percival,  i.,  122.  t  Ibid,  p.  178. 

tlbid,  p.  141.  §  Ibid,  p.  192. 


IN   AMERICA.  243 

Mary  Magdalene,  and  Dorcas,  and  Lydia,  ought  to  have 
passed  unchallenged  by  me." 

The  excitement  of  opening  her  heart  and  feeling  to  a 
stranger  wrought  powerfully  upon  Margaret.  She  spoke 
more  and  more  nervously,  and  almost  broke,  at  one  moment, 
into  tears. 

There  followed  a  painful  pause. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Ross ;  "  but,  pray 
command  yourself,  and  go  on.  You  interest  me  greatly." 

"  I  do  not  know  which  to  select,"  said  Margaret ;  "  but  a 
thousand  straws  show  me  that  I  have  been  hasty  in  suppos 
ing  that  I  had  exhausted  all  my  history  of  religious  inquiry. 
For  instance :  I  have  learned,  I  believe,  that  the  authority 
of  our  branch  of  the  Church  is  Divine ;  but,  lately,  I  am 
questioning,  constantly,  why  God  may  not  direct  as  many 
varieties  of  Church  government  as  of  family  government. 

"I  remember,  again,  how  terribly  I  was  distressed  at 
thinking  our  English  colonies  must  be  absolutely  heathen, 
because  so  few  clergymen  of  the  Establishment  were  in 
them/*  But,  lately,  —  I  believe  an  article  of  Macaulay's 
led  to  it,  and  a  talk  with  Mr.  Wilkie  confirmed  it,  —  it  has 
seemed  to  me  as  if  those  gallant  Methodist  preachers,  who 
go  out  so  freely  among  the  pioneers,  might  do  them  as  much 
good  as  even  our  clergymen  would  do. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  shocked ;  but  let  me  go  on,  and,  in 
one  or  two  instances  more,  you  shall  know  just  what  you 
have  to  be  shocked  at,  and  why  I  tell  you  all  this. 

"I  was  once  in  real  personal  distress,  surrounded  by 
afflictions,  —  and,  worst  of  all,  of  course,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  even  my  prayers  were  not  answered.t  I  thought,  and 
was  taught  to  think,  that  this  faithless  feeling  in  me  sprang 
from  my  own  conceit ;  because,  at  that  time,  I  was  engaged 

*  Margaret  Percival,  i.,  222.  t  Ibid,  n.f  p.  103. 


244  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

in  inquiry  as  to  the  grounds  of  the  Establishment.  But  I 
have  found,  since,  that  the  most  vigilant  religious  inquirer 
whom  I  ever  knew,  —  Anna  Wilkie,  —  is  one  of  the  most 
fervent,  faithful,  and  sustained  Christians  I  have  ever 
known;  and  I  have  seen  another  person,  of  my  own  age 
and  sex,  whose  name  I  need  not  mention,  who  had  just  the 
same  fears  that  I  had,  where,  I  am  sure,  they  did  not  arise 
from  theological  inquiry. 

"  Now,  sir,  I  have  analyzed,  carefully,  you  see,  all  these 
influences.  Day  and  night,  I  have  seen  where  I  stand. 
And,  understand  me  distinctly,  that  nobody  has  attempted 
or  thought  to  induce  me  to  leave  our  communion.  Under 
stand  me  again,  that  the  Church  of  my  fathers  is  as  dear  to 
me  as  ever.  But  I  am  aware,  —  in  the  examination  of  every 
night,  I  discover,  —  that  my  feeling  towards  the  different 
forms  of  Dissent  is  very  fast  changed.  I  begin  to  feel  that 
there  was  something  pharisaical  in  my  talk,  when  I  said, 
1  Even  the  Dissenters  admit  this,'  —  or,  'Even  the  Uni 
tarians  say  that.' 

"  This  brings  me  to  the  question  I  have  come  to  ask  you. 
Is  there  danger  in  this  state  of  heart  and  conscience  ?  Once, 
an  effort  was  made,  by  very  dear  friends,  to  convert  me 
from  our  communion.  But,  I  may  say,  I  think  that  all  my 
girlish  enthusiasm  for  them  was  not  equal  to  my  woman's 
love  for  these  kind,  dear  friends  whose  intercourse  thus 
surrounds  me.  The  attack,  then,  on  my  form  of  worship, 
was  not  nearly  as  severe  as  is  the  toleration  of  to-day. 

"  For,  you  see,  they  look  on  our  peculiarities  simply  as 
of  the  outside.  My  real  religious  life  was  never  more 
active,  my  religious  emotions  and  convictions  never  more 
strong,  than  with  these  people.  Conversation,  in  our  little 
circles,  where  every  form  of  Dissent  meets,  takes  a  religious 


IN    AMERICA.  245 

turn,  —  a  serious  turn,  —  quite  as  often  as  it  ever  did  at 
Alton,  my  old  home. 

"  I  know,  therefore,  that  because  they  treat  our  organi 
zation,  our  branch  of  the  Church,  as  an  exact  equal  sister, 
nothing  less  and  nothing  more  than  their  own,  —  I  know, 
I  say,  that  I  am  more  tempted  to  consider  her  so  myself, 
than  I  could  have  been  by  any  such  assault  upon  her,  as,  — 
as  I  have  said,  —  was  once  attempted  upon  me. 

"  Tell  me,  sir,"  —  Margaret  tried  to  speak  coolly,  and 
the  very  effort  showed  the  intensity  of  her  feeling,  —  "  tell 
me  if  all  this  position  is  dangerous  for  me  ! 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me.  I  have  made  sacrifices," 
—  her  voice  choked  a  little,  —  "I  can  make  them  again. 
I  have  sacrificed  friends,  the  dearest ;  books,  which  I  most 
loved ;  hopes,  which  were  brightest ;  dreams,  which  were 
most  gorgeous,  —  at  the  bidding  of  a  priest  of  our  Church. 
I  can  do  so  again,  if  it  is  necessary. 

"  But  I  know, — my  uncle  has  taught  me,  —  that  a  woman, 
that  a  layman,  must  be  very  doubtful  about  trusting  her 
conscience,  or  his  conscience;^ — that  he  may  have  too 
much  of  reading  and  argument  ;t  that  I  must  not  rely  on 
my  own  judgment  or  persuasion^  but  that  I  must  consult 
a  clergyman,  in  such  a  matter.^  Nay,  my  most  latitudina- 
rian  friends  have  reminded  me  of  this,  here. 

"  And  so  I  have  come  to  ask  you  what  I  shall  do.  If 
you  direct  me,  on  your  authority  as  a  priest  of  our  Church, 
to  renounce  these  acquaintances  as  dangerous,  and  to  put 
by  all  the  books  of  Dissenters,  I  am  here,  ready,  from  this 
moment,  to  obey.  It  shall  be  my  New  Year's  resolution." 

And  there  was  a  pause.  Mr.  Koss  did  not,  for  a  few 
minutes,  attempt  an  answer  to  this  passionate  appeal. 

*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  216.  t  Ibid,  n.,  169. 

t  Ibid,  ii.,  264.  §  Ibid,  n.,  164. 


246  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

To  confess  the  whole  truth,  Mr.  Ross  is  the  only  person 
mentioned  in  this  book  with  whom  we,  its  compilers,  have 
not  absolutely  confidential  intercourse.  But  we  do  not 
know  from  him,  —  he  has  not  answered  our  circular  letters, 
—  just  what  he  felt,  as  he  listened  to  this  appeal. 

Without  knowing,  we  suspect  that  he  was  embarrassed  at 
the  consciousness  of  the  different  estimate  which  the  priests 
of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  England  take  of  her .  position, 
from  that  wrhich  intelligent  brethren  of  theirs  in  the  Epis 
copal  Church  of  America  take  of  her  position.  He  had 
been  troubled,  before,  by  finding  that  English  Episcopal 
books  would  assume  a  tone  wholly  unknown  to  the  public 
ministrations  of  the  most  of  the  Episcopal  pulpits  in  Amer 
ica. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  however,  we  do  not  know ;  we  can 
only  tell  what  happened. 

"  What  danger,  —  do  you  mean,  —  Miss  Percival  ?  "  said 
he,  with  a  little  the  air  of  a  man  who  would  gain  timev 

"  The  danger  of  encouraging  schism,  by  learning  to  love 
schismatics,  as  I  do  those  of  our  Church,"  replied  she, 
instantly.  "Are  these  friends  of  mine  schismatics  ?  Indeed, 
are  they  Christians  ? " 

"  O,  Miss  Percival !  far  be  it  from  me  to  decide  hastily 
as  to  the  Christianity  of  another  !  Let  God  be  the  keeper 
of  that  question !  " 

"  I  wish,"  said  Margaret,  half  aside,  "  that  all  clergymen 
were  as  modest.  They  are  not  true  Christians,  if  they  are 
guilty  of  schism.  Now,  do  I,  or  do  I  not,  owe  it  to  my 
allegiance  to  our  Church,  to  '  come  out  from  among  them '  ? 
Ought  I,  or  ought  I  not,  save  myself  from  the  danger  of 
coming  to  regard  their  church  establishments  as  being  as 
much  G  od's  handiwork,  God's  branches,  as  mine  is  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  must  feel,  —  I  am  sure  you  feel,  Miss  Perci- 


IN   AMERICA.  247 

val,  —  that  our  order  is  the  most  dignified,  our  noble  Liturgy 
the  most  elevated  form  of  worship  —  " 

"  For  us.  I  feel  it  all,  —  yourself  not  more  so.  Just  as 
completely  do  I  feel  that  it  is  not  so  for  them.  Is  it  dan 
gerous  for  me  to  continue  in  the  association  which  has  led 
me  to  that  tolerance  which  I  am  sure  I  had  not  when  I  left 
England  ?  "  She  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  when  my 
biography  was  written ; "  but  she  checked  herself  just  in 
time. 

"  You  speak,  my  dear  Miss  Percival,"  said  Mr.  Ross, 
attempting  to  recall  himself,  to  express  a  sense  of  that 
authority  which  she  gave  him  so  freely,  — "  you  speak 
enthusiastically,  though  you  say  you  have  passed  your  girl 
ish  years.  It  is  not,  of  course,  necessary  that  such  a  step 
as  you  consult  me  about  should  be  sudden.  There  is  no 
need  of  an  excited  suspension  of  intimacy.  Who  knows 
but  your  presence  among  your  new  friends  may  not  be  the 
means  of  calling  their  attention  to  our  order,  —  to  our  noble 
Liturgy?  In  God's  Providence,  you  maybe  the  medium 
of  calling  some  of  them  back  to  the  fold  we  so  much  love." 

Margaret  suppressed  an  expression  of  impatience.  "As 
for  that,  sir,"  said  she,  "  I  do  not  find  wish  or  opportunity 
for  persuasion,  where  no  attempt  is  made  to  persuade  me ; 
—  where  we  talk  of  religion,  —  of  its  ordinances,  —  but 
almost  never  of  its  organizations  or  machinery.  Nor, 
indeed,  can  I  suppose  that  a  laywoman,  who  may  not  argue, 
and  has  to  receive  her  directions  from  clergymen,  can  be 
meant  to  be  an  instrument  of  much  force  in  the  enlargement 
of  the  Church  we  love. 

"  In  fact,"  she  said,  "  you  do  not  quite  answer  my  ques 
tion.  I  want  to  speak  of  my  duty  to  my  own  personal 
faith. 

"  I  want  to  know  whether  I  am  encouraging  schism. 


248  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

"  I  want  to  know  whether,  drawn  as  1  am  to  sympathize 
with  these  Christians  of  other  communions,  I  am  bringing 
dishonor  upon  Apostolic  Churches. 

"  I  want  to  know  just  what  are,  and  what  are  not, 
'Apostolic  Churches.' 

"  Do  not  think  I  put  these  questions  sceptically,"  she 
said ;  "  God  knows  that  I  do  not.  But  the  reason  that  they 
come  to  my  lips  so  readily  is,  that  my  life  has  suggested 
them,  these  three  months.  And  do  not  think,  Mr.  Ross,  that 
I,  who  do  not  pretend  to  be  strong,  who  waive  all  claim  at 
intellectual  subtlety,  —  a  woman,  and  not  a  masculine 
woman,  —  do  not  think,  I  say,  that  I  can  keep  myself  in 
any  medium,  any  delicate,  any  nicely-balanced  position.  Do 
not  ask  me  to  play  a  nice  part.  I  can  act  once  for  all.  I  can 
give  up  my  dear  friends,  —  their  books  I  have  not  yet  ven 
tured  on.  If  their  churches  are  not  Christian  churches,  — 
if  I  encourage  schism,  when  I  grow  to  love  them  with  all  the 
fervor  of  my  Christian  love,  —  if  I  endanger  myself,  by 
intercourse  with  them,  I  will  renounce  them. 

"  If  I  may  keep  to  them,  with  the  feeling  that  all  these 
different  ways  in  which  different  men  *  call  Jesus  the  Lord  ' 
are  only  differences  of  forms  where  there  is  one  Spirit,  I 
will  keep  to  them,  —  loving,  as  you  know  I  must  love,  to 
the  last,  the  Church  of  my  birth  and  training ;  but  making 
no  claim  for  her  that  I  will  not  tolerate  from  them. 

"  I  will  do  one  of  these,  or  the  other,  if  you  will  tell  me 
which  to  do." 

Mr.  Ross  again  tried  to  check  the  excited  girl.  "  Why 
plunge  into  extremes?"  he  said;  "it  maybe  that  a  mid 
way  course  is  the  true  course,  —  or  a  gradual  course." 

"  Not  where  right  and  wrong  are  the  two  extremes. 
Pardon  me ;  do  not  let  me  say  that,  for  it  is  as  if  I  were 
answering  my  own  question. 


IN  AMERICA.  249 

"  But,  indeed,  my  dear  sir,  here  no  middle  course  will  an 
swer  my  purpose.  I  am  not  a  person  for  midway  courses.  I 
wish,  —  God  knows  how  earnestly,  —  to  continue  this  delight 
ful  Christian  friendship.  I  can  do  so,  if  only  I  may  rank 
these  churches,  —  these  forms  of  faith  of  my  friends,  —  as 
sister  branches  of  ours  upon  the  vine.  But  if,  in  learning 
to  consider  them  thus,  I  am  wrong,  there  is  nothing  midway 
for  me ;  I  must  leave  them  forever,  as  I  did  dear  friends, 
once  before. 

"  I  will  do  so,  if  you  bid  me." 

Mr.  Ross  was  in  some  difficulty.  He  would  not  dream  of 
asking  Margaret  to  break  up  her  friendly  intercourse  with 
her  new  associates.  Yet,  for  a  moment,  he  seemed  at  loss 
how  to  define  the  position  which  he  wished  her  to  occupy. 
She  had  declined,  and  on  good  grounds  enough,  attempting 
the  duty  of  a  missionary,  to  convert  them  from  Dissent. 

He  began  again.  "  Miss  Percival,  you  see  that  your  dif 
ficulty  does  not  affect  me.  I  visit  your  nearest  friends,  the 
Wilkies,  and  do  not  incur  the  guilt,  either  of  schism  or  of 
lukewarmness,  in  doing  so." 

"You  are  a  clergyman.  You  are  ordained,  set  apart  to 
visit  people,  in  whatever  error.  If  men  are  in  error,  it  is 
through  you,  and  those  of  your  calling,  that  they  are  to  be 
called  back.  That  is  not  my  position.  I  have  no  right  to 
expose  myself  to  temptation.  No  layman  has.  if  my  uncle 
has  directed  me  rightly."  * 

"  Do  I  understand  you  that  you  feel  confused,  or  troubled, 
while  you  are  with  these  friends  ?  Does  your  conscience 
tell  you  that  you  are  wrong  ? " 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  replied  she  ;  "  but  there,  again,  at  that 
very  crisis  which  I  describe  to  you,  my  uncle  warned  me 

*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  79,  164,  169. 


250  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

against  trusting  to  conscience  as  my  only  law.  '  Conscience 
is  the  plea  on  which  the  most  fatal  crimes  have  been  com 
mitted,'  he  said ;  '  and  the  disagreement  of  conscience  from 
God's  law  is,  in  itself,  a  sin  for  which  we  shall  surely  be 
called  to  account,  according  as  we  had  it  in  our  power  to 
learn  the  truth.'" * 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Ross ;  "  and  that  law,  —  have  you 
studied  that  ? " 

"/  study  it !  Yes,  I  studied,  for  an  hour,  last  night,  St. 
Paul's  chapter  on  schism ;  and,  as  far  as  my  opinion  went, 
concluded  that  I  was  myself  queen  of  schismatics.  But 
I  did  not  trust  my  opinion.  Our  Church  directs  us  to  seek 
her  interpretation  of  Scripture,  and  not  our  own. 

"  For  that,  I  have  come  to  you. 

"Am  I  in  danger,  by  yielding  to  the  conviction  that  these 
friends  are  in  true  communion  with  the  Great  Church  Uni 
versal?" 

Mr.  Ross  was  about  to  answer  again,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  a  parishioner  came  in,  to  see  him  on  some  mat 
ter  about  his  house-rent,  which  required  immediate  atten 
tion.  The  man  was  an  Englishman.  A  short,  general 
conversation,  showed  Margaret  that  in  England  he  had 
been  a  Radical.  He  had  been  offended,  there,  by  the  gov 
ernment  connection  with  the  Established  Church;  and  had, 
with  his  family,  neglected  it,  and  its  ordinances.  He  had 
been  destitute  of  any  public  religious  advantages  for  years, 
therefore.  On  his  emigration,  he  brought  with  him  his 
prejudices ;  but,  falling  in  Mr.  Ross'  way,  and  seeing  con 
stantly  that,  with  the  loss  of  government  patronage,  the 
Episcopal  Church  here  stood,  at  least,  on  a  simpler  footing 
than  at  home,  his  old  mother-love  of  her  carne  back  to  him. 

*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  216. 


IN   AMERICA.  251 

He  ha.d  led  back  his  trusting  wife  there,  to  her  great  joy  ; 
and  America's  voluntary  system  had  made  again  an  Epis 
copalian  of  the  man  whom  the  Establishment  had  driven 
away.  Such  cases  are  frequent  in  America. 

His  call  on  Mr.  Ross  could  not  be  postponed.  It  was 
with  reference  to  some  arrangements  about  the  tenement 
which  he  was  to  occupy  in  the  new  quarter. 

Uncle  Andrew  called  before  he  had  gone.  Mr.  Ross 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  gratified  for  an  opportunity  to  think 
over  Margaret's  question.  He  rose  rather  hastily,  bade  her 
good-morning,  and  said,  "  I  think  I  understand  your  case ; 
let  me  write  to  you,  and  I  think  I  can  send  you  some  books 
which  may  be  of  use  to  you." 

Margaret  saw  that  there  was  no  help  for  the  interruption, 
and  she  took  her  leave. 

The  next  day  the  letter  came,  and  with  it  a  little  parcel 
of  books.  Margaret  at  once  retired  to  her  room,  and  tore 
open  its  envelope. 

MR.    ROSS    TO    MARGARET    PERCIVAL. 

"Jan.  1,  1850,  11  P.  M. 
"  MY  DEAR  Miss  PERCIVAL  :  — 

"I  need  not  say  to  you,  that  I  have  given  careful  thought 
and  anxious  prayer  to  the  questions  which  you  submitted 
to  me  this  morning. 

"I  am  sure  that  even  your  slight  acquaintance  with 
America  shows  you  that  the  state  of  society,  among  mem 
bers  of  different  Christian  denominations,  is  not  at  all  that 
to  which  you  are  used  at  home. 

"  Hence  your  difficulty.  It  would  have  occurred  to  you 
at  home,  but  for  your  differences  there  of  classes  in  society. 

"  Do  not  think,  of  course,  that  your  duty,  as  a  religious 


252  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

woman,  calls  upon  you  to  attempt  a  change,  which  would 
only  be  possible  in  a  different  political  system. 

"  But  see  to  yourself.  For  yourself,  you  are  answerable. 
You  think  that  your  love  of  our  denomination  is  as  warm  as 
ever.  Make  sure  of  that  affection.  This  is  my  first  point 
of  advice. 

"  For  others,  we  all  trust  here,  that,  in  the  midst  of  the 
confusions  of  various  sects,  *  our  scriptural  doctrines,  and 
our  conservative  polity  and  Liturgy,  are  more  and  more 
commending  themselves  to  the  best  affections  of  our  people, 
notwithstanding  the  ungenial  character  of  the  soil  on  which 
our  Church  is  planted.' 

"  If  you  are  steadfast  in  your  own  communion,  that  is 
what  the  Lord  requires  of  you. 

"  Mrs.  Eoss  suggests  to  me  that  you  will  derive  satisfac 
tion  and  receive  light  from  the  admirable  work  of  an  Eng 
lish  lady,  which  she  has  put  up  for  me  to  send  with  this. 
Several  of  our  young  friends  have  been  deeply  interested  in 
it.  As  I  write,  it  occurs  to  me  that  the  name,  at  least,  will 
interest  you. 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Percival,  with  prayer  that 
the  Spirit  may  guide  you, 

"Always  your  friend  and  pastor, 

"ROBERT  Ross." 

Margaret  read  the  letter,  and  read  it  again. 

"  Not  the  first  word,"  said  she,  "  in  answer  to  my  ques 
tion  ! 

"  Yet  —  yes,  —  here  he  speaks  of  our  Church  as  a  '  de 
nomination'  among  other  'denominations'!  That  would 
imply  sisterhood.  But  he  expects  them  all  to  be  converted 
to  our  Order. 

"Why? 


IN  AMERICA.  253 

"Because  'our  doctrines  are  Scriptural,'  —  so  they  think 
theirs,  —  'our  polity  and  Liturgy  conservative.'  Is  that 
all  that  can  be  said  for  their  conversion  ?  Is  the  distinction 
between  system  and  system  only  one  of  convenience,  of 
expediency  ?  That  is  Arthur  Newstead's  theory,  and  Mr. 
Wilkie's. 

"  But  what  are  the  books  ? " 

The  binding  of  the  two  volumes  was  not  familiar  to  her. 
It  was  an  American  edition.  She  opened  at  the  title-page, 
and,  to  her  amazement,  read  — 

MARGARET   PERCIVAL  ; 

BY  THE 

Author  of  "Amy  Herbert,"  "Gertrude,"  "Laneton  Parsonage,"  £c.  Spc. 

11  Horror  of  horrors ! "  cried  she,  almost  laughing  at  the 
absurdity,  almost  crying  at  the  vexation,  of  the  incident. 

"  Then  Mr.  Ross  does  not  know  that  /  am  Margaret 
Percival ! 

"  The  book  must  be  strangely  eonsistent,"  she  added,  as 
she  turned  over  its  pages,  "  if  there  is  anything  in  it  to 
comfort  me ;  for  certainly  there  are  in  it  some  of  the  injunc 
tions  which  most  distress  me,  and  make  me  need  light  most 
of  all." 

As  she  turned  over  the  pages,  curious  to  see  the  novelty 
of  American  type  and  paper,  her  eye  lighted  on  these  words 
of  Mr.  Sutherland,  —  "  There  are  more  minute  rules  given 
for  the  conduct  of  a  Romanist  than  for  ours." 

"  How  well  I  remember  that  day !  "  said  Margaret,  as  she 
read.  The  book  went  on,  — 

"  *  And  do  you  not  think  this  desirable  ? '  inquired  Mar 
garet. 

"  '  Did  you  ever  see  a  child  in  a  go-cart? '  inquired  Mr. 
Sutherland.  '  It  is  an  admirable  support ;  what  should  you 
22 


254  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

say  if  we  were  to  use  go-carts  all  our  lives  ? '  Margaret 
laughed.  *  You  laugh,'  continued  her  uncle,  '  because  you 
see,  at  once,  that  we  were  all  designed  to  run  alone.  Are 
you  sure  that  it  may  not  be  quite  as  unwise,  as  contrary 
to  the  order  of  Providence,  to  put  the  mind  in  a  go-cart,  as 
it  is  to  put  the  body  ? ' 

"  *  The  mind  is  weak,  all  our  life,'  said  Margaret,  —  '  the 
body  is  not.' 

"  *  Granted,  at  once ;  and  it  should  be  treated  as  weak,  by 
having  sticks,  and  props,  and  outward  helps.' " 

Margaret  read  no  more.  "  Those  I  have  had,"  said  she ; 
"just  now,  they  are  not  quite  what  I  need;"  and  she 
glanced  at  the  letter.  "Did  my  uncle  mean  that,  some 
day,  I  was  to  go  by  myself  more  than  I  have  done  ? 

"  Does  God  mean  it,  perhaps,  when,  in  his  Providence, 
he  sends  my  'natural  spiritual  adviser'  to  the  end  of  the 
earth ;  and  his  successor  sends  me  but  little  minute  direc 
tion  ? 

" '  There  are  more  minute  rules  for  the  conduct  of  a 
Romanist  than  for  ours.'  Then  we  are  more  designed  to 
run  alone.  At  least,  —  and  best  of  all  is  it,  —  we  may 
read  our  Bibles  for  ourselves;"  and  she  opened  the  dear 
book,  —  her  uncle's  present,  so  long  ago.  Her  eye  fell  upon, 
the  words, — 

"  The  spirit  of  man  is  the  candle  of  the  Lord." 


IN    AMERICA.  255 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

CAN  the  study  of  Theology  be  so  very  intricate?"  said 
Margaret  to  herself,  the  next  evening,  when,  retiring  from 
the  family  circle,  she  found  herself  in  the  solitude  of  her 
own  room. 

How  often,  how  curiously,  is  this  question  asked,  by  those 
who  are  just  pausing  before  the  luxury  of  seeing  with  their 
own  eyes,  and  hearing  with  their  own  ears  ! 

Such  a  luxury  is  it !  Did  any  one  ever  once  read  the 
masters  of  thought,  and  turn  back  willingly  to  the  Peter 
Parley  literature  of  our  day  ? 

And  who  ever  read,  easily,  St.  John  or  St.  Paul,  in  the 
original,  without  the  feeling  that  his  school  labor  was  all 
repaid  ? 

When  will  the  time  come,  when  our  women,  from  the 
study  of  Latin,  shall  pass  to  that  of  the  sacred  tongue, — 
when  one  may  write,  '•'•her  school  labor  all  repaid,"  —  when 
they  shall  hear  the  sacred  teachers  teaching  in  their  own 
tongue  ? 

"Can  the  study  of  Theology  be  so  very  intricate?"  said 
Margaret.  "  How  came  it  that  my  uncle  terrified  me  so 
exceedingly,  in  those  terrible  days  of  Father  Andrea  ? " 
She  turned  back  to  the  little  address,  with  which,  in  those 
days,  he  had  persuaded  her  that  she  must  not  attempt  to 
study  such  matters.  "  Before  you  can  attempt  to  form  an 
opinion  for  yourself  upon  this  point,  I  will  tell  you  the 
learning  which  is  absolutely  required.  First,  an  acquaint 
ance  with  the  works  of  the  great  English  divines,  Taylor, 
Andrews,  Hooker,  Hammond,  Bull,  Beveridge."  * 

*  Margaret  Percival,  n.,  268. 


256  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  fire,  six,"  said  Margaret,  counting 
them,  in  quite  bold  spirits.  "  '  O  ! '  he  went  on,  *  and  very 
many  besides.'  Perhaps,  in  all,  as  much  time  required  to 
read  them,  carefully,  as  to  read  Hume,  Smollett,  Bissett, 
Macaulay,  and  Gibbon,  as  I  have  done."  She  read  on : 

" '  Next,  a  comparison  of  their  statements  with  those  of 
Bellarmine,  Baronius,  and  the  chief  Romanist  writers.' 
Say  as  much  time,"  said  Margaret,  still  bold,  "  as  I  have 
spent  in  reading  the  Waverley  Novels." 

The  book  continues  :  — " c  Then  a  perfect  knowledge,'  — 
perfect"  said  Margaret,  "  that  is  hard  for  any  of  us ;  but  he 
did  not  mean  perfect,  — « knowledge  of  Ecclesiastical  his 
tory/ 

"  What  is  Ecclesiastical  history,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  she. 

"  *  And,  lastly,  a  long  and  deep  study  of  the  early  fathers, 
—  implying,  of  course,  critical  learning  in  the  Greek  and 
Latin  languages.'" 

Margaret  winced  here.  cl  I  shall  be  tempted  to  acknowl 
edge  that  I  was  right  in  submitting,"  she  thought ;  "  yet, 
these  fathers  must  be  good  reading  for  a  long,  rainy  day. 
What  did  I  study  Latin  for,  I  wonder  ? 

"  How  hard  poor  George  must  have  worked  at  Oxford  ! 
All  this  necessary  for  the  very  beginning  of  a  clergyman's 
duties  in  our  Church,  —  before  he  can  fairly  regard  him 
self  as  right  in  accepting  her  separation  from  Rome ! 

"On  the  whole,  I  am  glad  that  we,  of  the  laity,  do  not 
have  it  on  our  hands." 

By  this  time,  she  was  in  a  fit  of  reverie.  "  As  for  my 
Catholic  doubts,"  said  she,  "  dear  Uncle  Henry's  treatment 
did  its  work.  I  was  under  a  false  influence  at  the  time. 
My  attachment  to  the  Countess,  and  my  taste  or  fancy,  were 
ruling  my  conscience,  my  judgment,  and  my  faith. 

"  Perhaps,  indeed,  the  issue  turned  on  the  fact,  that  I 
loved  him  more  than  I  did  her. 


IN    AMERICA.  257 

"  No  matter,  —  let  that  go ;  it  was  all  right.  Heavens ! 
how  I  should  have  chained  myself,  if  I  had  stepped  back 
wards  into  the  Dark  Ages,  and  accepted  '  the  minute  rules 
given  for  the  conduct  of  the  Romanist ! ' " 

Her  musings  took  a  more  sustained  and  regular  form,  as 
she  sat  reviewing  the  day. 

At  last,  she  drew  her  journal  to  herself,  and  wrote  : 

"Jan.  2,  1850. 

"  I  am  permitted  to  run  more  freely  by  myself. 

"I  resolve,  at  the  beginning  of  the  New  Year,  that  I  will 
study  carefully,  to  see  what  are  '  Apostolic  Churches.' 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  question  cannot  be  so  intricate 
as  that  of  the  Papal  Supremacy. 

"  As  it  began  with  the  Reformation,  the  books  must  all  be 
in  German,  Latin,  French,  Italian,  or  English ;  which  lan 
guages,  thank  God,  a  woman  now-a-days  understands." 

With  this  bold  entry  on  her  journal,  —  what  bravery 
equals  that  of  a  journal,  at  New  Year's  time  ?  —  wholly  con 
fident,  in  her  midnight  enthusiasm,  that  she  could  follow 
out  the  course  which  she  aimed  at,  —  remembering,  but  not 
converted  by,  Anna's  warning  of  some  weeks  before,  Mar 
garet  went  to  bed. 

"  At  least,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  I  shall  feel  better  when  I 
know  that  I  have  failed." 

Five  o'clock,  the  next  morning,  found  Margaret  dressed, 
and  in  the  library. 

She  had  lighted  the  library  lamp,  —  had  congratulated 
herself  that  Mr.  Wilkie's  taste  had  collected  so  many  theo 
logical  books  as  she  knew  were  here,  ->-  and  then  she  began 
to  look  fairly  round  her,  wondering  where  she  should  begin, 
and  how. 

How  few  of  us  have  learned  how  to  study  ! 


258  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

"  I  shall  be  at  loss,  for  days,"  said  Margaret;  "  but  I  must 
strike  a  clew  at  last.  All  the  more  shall  I  like  it,  that  it  is 
my  own." 

An  irresistible,  unaccountable  connection  of  ideas,  com 
pared  her  quest  with  Mr.  Newstead's  crusade.  "We  are, 
both  of  us,"  said  she,  "  wondering  how  we  shall  begin. 

"  The  thing  to  be  examined,"  continued  she,  beginning,  in 
the  novelty  of  her  position  as  a  self-taught  student,  to  regain 
the  excitement  of  midnight,  "is  the  Apostolic  Succession. 
If,  as  descended  from  the  Apostles,  our  ministers  have  rights 
and  powers  which  none  others  have,  other  churches  are  not 
equal  to  ours. 

"I  am  a  member  of  the  Episcopal  Church,"  continued 
she,  —  "so  I  am  going  to  begin  with  their  writers.  I  will 
read  what  they  say  first.  Then  let  the  Dissenters  justify 
their  Dissent  as  they  can." 

She  thought  to  find  reference  to  some  authors  in  the 
'Encyclopaedia.  She  looked  at  the  word  apostolical^  but 
there  was  nothing  about  the  Apostolic  Succession  there. 

So  she  went  to  the  theological  book-case  itself.     Rather  a 
hap-hazard  collection,  Mr.  Wilkie  called  it ;  and  poor  Mar 
garet's  zeal  chilled  a  little,  as  she  read  the  titles  before  her. 
"  Moehler's  Symbolik," 
"  Hug's  Introduction," 
"  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes," 
"  Stuart  on  the  Epistle  of  the  Romans," 
were  names  which  she  read  aloud,  as  her  eye  glanced  from 
shelf  to  shelf.      "  There  must  be  something  here  that  I 
want,"  said  she ;  "  but  what  fairy  will  tell  me  what  ?  "    Just 
then  her  eye  caught  on  "  Coleman's  Primitive  Church." 

"Why  not  that?"  quoth  Margaret;  and  she  pulled  the 
book  down ;  but  caught  sight  of  another  title  to  it :  —  "A 
Church  without  a  Bishop." 


IN   AMERICA.  259 

"  Then  it  is  a  Dissenter's  book,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  will  not 
begin  with  it.  But  perhaps  I  can  find  some  other  referred 
to,  which  may  be  here." 

And  she  sat  down  with  it. 

It  begins  with  a  letter  from  the  celebrated  Neander  to  the 
author. 

"That's  good,"  said  Margaret;  "I  remember,  my  uncle 
told  us  of  Neander."  And  she  wrote  Neander's  name  at 
the  top  of  the  sheets  of  paper  of  which  she  had  been 
making  a  note-book.  "Neander  was  the  man  whose 
lectures  he  heard  at  Berlin,  —  the  converted  Jew,  —  the 
most  learned  student  of  Ecclesiastical  history  in  the 
world. 

"  And  I  know  Neander's  church,  the  Church  of  Russia,  is 
apostolical ;  for  it  united  with  ours  in  sending  the  Bishop  of 
Jerusalem  to  Jerusalem." 

She  read  a  few  lines  of  what  Neander  writes,  in  this  let 
ter,  to  Dr.  Coleman. 

"  What ! "  said  Margaret ;  and  she  copied,  at  the  head  of 
her  note-book,  the  following  words  :  — 

From  Neander's  Letter  to  Dr.  Coleman. 

"  I  regard  it  as  one  of  the  remarkable  signs  of  the  times, 
that  Christians,  separated  from  each  other  by  land  and  by 
sea,  by  language  and  government,  are  becoming  more 
closely  united,  in  the  consciousness  that  they  are  only  d  if- 
ferent  members  of  one  universal  Church,  grounded  and 
built  on  the  rock  Christ  Jesus." 

Said  she  to  herself,  as  she  read  it  over,  "  That  is  from 
the  most  learned  Ecclesiastical  historian  in  an  Apostolical 
Church.  I  never  took  that  idea  from  my  uncle. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  find  some  book  of  this  Mr.  Neander.'' 


260  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

She  went  again  to  the  book-case. 

Sure  enough,  she  had  found,  on  that  shelf,  a  mine  of 
Ecclesiastical  history.  Before  she  saw  Neander,  she 
lighted  on  "  History  of  the  Church,  by  Jarvis."  She 
glanced  at  the  title-page,  and  the  preface. 

"This  is  what  I  want!  The  history  of  the  Church,  by 
an  historiographer  appointed  by  our  branch  of  it.  And  she 
turned  over  the  chapters,  eagerly,  at  first,  then  more  care 
fully,  as  she  was  more  and  more  struck  with  the  diligent 
way  in  which  a  faithful  student  works,  at  the  very  founda 
tion  of  his  task.  Margaret  began  to  see  what  faithful  study 
was.  Years  of  life  must  have  been  lavished,  as  she  saw, 
on  the  essays  preliminary  to  the  main  object.  But  the 
volume  ended  with  the  birth  of  Jesus.  She  saw  it  was  but 
a  faithful,  learned,  preparatory  volume.  She  went  for  its 
successors,  and  could  not  find  them.^ 

"  Waddington's  History  of  the  Church" 

It  fell  open  at  a  pencil-mark  of  Mr.  Wilkie's,  where  he 
had  scored  the  statement,  that,  in  the  first  instance,  and  for 
a  short  time,  the  words  bishop  and  presbyter  "  were  used 
synonymously  and  indiscriminately,  for  the  same  order  of 
persons." 

"  This  must  be  a  Dissenter,"  said  Margaret.  No ;  the 
book  was  by  Waddington,  Dean  of  Durham. 

The  table  was  already  piled  with  these  beginnings. 
Margaret's  excited  zeal  was  giving  way  to  a  puzzled  feel 
ing.  She  had  begun  wrong,  perhaps.  Still,  she  would  not 
be  discouraged  by  an  hour's  failure.  She  would  be  calmer, 
before  she  went  on.  And  she  laid  by  her  book,  sat  gently 
to  quiet  herself  for  a  few  moments.  Then  she  renewed 
her  studies ;  and  here  she  was  right  in  seeking  li'ght  to 

*  The  second  volume  has  not  yet  appeared. 


IN   AMERICA.  261 

her  soul  and  mind,  and  in  seeking  strength  to  study 
withal. 

She  took  her  Prayer-book,  as  the  guide  to  her  devotions. 

It  was  a  new  copy,  one  which  she  had  never  used  before. 
Mr.  Wilkie  had  given  her  this  on  New  Year's  day,  —  the 
service  as  arranged  for  the  Episcopal  Church  in  America. 
Margaret  had  always  had  at  hand,  before,  the  copy  which 
she  brought  from  Alton. 

As  she  opened  the  book,  thinking  of  Mr.  Wilkie's  kind 
ness  in  selecting  it  for  her,  her  eye  fell  upon  the  beauti 
ful  preface  with  which  the  convention  who  prepared  it 
introduce  it,  —  a  statement  so  much  superior  to  the  preten 
sions  of  silly  or  the  weakness  of  narrow  minds.  Margaret 
had  never  read  it  before,  and  now  she  read  it  carefully,  and 
with  deep,  serious  interest. 

At  last,  she  came  to  the  words,  — 

"  When,  in  the  course  of  Divine  Providence,  these  Amer 
ican  States  became  independent  with  respect  to  civil  gov 
ernment,  their  Ecclesiastical  independence  was  necessarily 
included ;  and  the  different  religious  denominations  of 
Christians  in  these  States  were  left  at  full  and  equal  liberty 
to  model  and  organize  their  respective  churches,  and  forms 
of  worship  and  discipline,  in  such  manner  as  they  may 
judge  most  convenient  for  their  future  prosperity,  consist 
ently  with  the  constitution  and  laws  of  their  country." 

"  '  Their  respective  churches ! '  Then  they  are  churches !  " 
cried  Margaret.  "  There  can  be  churches,  without  our  sort 
of  Bishops !  Anna  Wilkie  and  I  need  not  be  separated  by 
fear  of  schism,  or  danger  of  schism  !  The  highest  authority 
in  my  own  dear  Church  declares  it  so !  " 

Could  she  be  right  ?  Was  not  this  the  dream  springing 
from  some  of  the  more  heretical  books  around  her  ? 

No,  —  it  was  her  own  dear  Prayer-book,  a  copy  certified 


262  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

by  Dr.  Wainwright,  under  Bishop  Onderdonk's  appoint 
ment. 

Never  again  would  she  speak  of  "  The  Church,"  unless 
when  she  meant  the  great  unnumbered  body  of  all  Christians  ; 
never  speak  of  "the  English  Church,"  "the  American 
Church,"  or  "  the  Scotch  Church,"  unless  she  meant  all  in 
England,  Scotland,  or  America,  whom  the  Spirit  had  led  to 
"  call  Jesus  their  Lord  !  " 

She  looked  back  on  the  books  on  the  table,  with  new 
interest,  but  with  a  different  feeling.  Now,  she  had  a 
curiosity  to  indulge,  but  she  had  no  feeling  of  rebellion  in 
indulging  it. 

Her  only  feeling  was  surprise,  that  when  the  Episcopal 
Church  in  America  so  frankly  had  recognized  the  sisterhood 
and  equality  of  all  other  denominations,  any  of  her  children 
could  use  the  language  Margaret  had  heard  so  often,  — 
which  she  knew  ran  through  her  own  biography,  —  which 
she  had  detected  in  fifty  places  there,  of  late  ;  —  language 
implying  a  superiority  in  her  and  her  institutions,  beyond 
their  "  convenience  for  future  prosperity." 

She  read  the  morning  service  with  a  thankful  heart. 
After  a  few  moments,  she  drew  to  the  table  again,  and  had 
taken  hold  once  more  of  Bishop  Waddington,  when  Mr. 
Wilkie  entered  the  room. 

He  started  at  seeing  her.  "  You  are  earlier  than  I,  Mar 
garet  ;  and  that  pile  of  books  says  that  you  are  at  work ! 
Why,  I  thought,  my  dear  child,  that  this  was  to  be  vacation!  " 

"  Vacation  from  '  joggafy  and  the  three  R's  ; '  —  yes,  dear 
sir ;  but  therefore  just  the  time  for  me  to  use  your  books,  and 
help  myself ;  and,"  continued  she,  "  if  every  hour  of  it  ends 
as  happily  as  this  first,  my  vacation  work  in  your  library 
will  be  happy  work  indeed  !  " 

"  Why,  what  are  you  doing,  my  dear  Margaret  ?     The 


IN    AMERICA.  263 

Encyclopaedia  Americana,  Waddington,  Coleman,  Dr.  Jar- 
vis,  —  you  are  deep  in  Church  history ;  —  can  you  read 
four  books  at  once  ?  " 

"  Do  not  laugh,  dear  Mr.  Wilkie ;  just  now,  I  am  too 
happy  even  to  laugh,  or  to  be  laughed  at.  Let  me  tell  you 
what  has  been  on  my  mind,  these  weeks  back.  Let  me  tell 
you  what  has  been  taken  off,  in  the  last  hour." 

Then  Margaret  told  him,  with  a  clearness  of  thought  and 
expression  which  he  had  not  supposed  she  could  command, 
much  of  her  history  of  thought  and  faith.  She  told  him 
much  that  he  had  inferred  from  what  he  knew  of  her,  — 
much  that  our  readers  know  better  than  he  did. 

She  told  him  that,  in  her  girlhood,  when  religion  within 
her  was  only  a  germ,  her  disposition  clung  to  that  vision 
which  represented  the  members  of  the  Christian  Church  as 
forming  one  family,  with  altars  and  homes  open  to  them  on 
every  side.^  She  told  him  that  she  had  hated  to  believe 
this  vision  a  night-dream,  —  that  she  had  loved  to  suppose  it 
a  reality.  She  said  that,  in  her  hope  of  finding  that  reality, 
she  had  been  attracted,  how  closely  he  knew,  toward  the 
Roman  church,  —  that  the  idea  of  catholicity  was  too  beau 
tiful  not  to  attract  her.  She  supposed  that  the  wide  spread 
of  its  usages,  the  power  which  it  had  over  so  many  lands, 
was  one  of  its  chief  charms  to  her ;  —  that  the  feeling  that 
her  own  Church  was  only  the  Church  of  England,  one  little 
island,  was  one  reason  why  she  looked  for  a  moment  coldly 
upon  its  claims. 

She  told  him,  in  few  words,  that  she  had  been  withdrawn, 
by  the  strong  arm  of  her  uncle's  authority,  —  partly  the  au 
thority  of  a  priest,  mostly  that  of  a  very  dear  and  true  friend, 
she  said,  — from  the  temptation  to  tie  her  hands  in  the  Roman 
communion.  She  had  never  really  regretted  that  she  was 

*  Margaret  Percival,  i.,  94. 


264  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

so  withdrawn.  The  mood  had  changed,  in  which  she  had 
been  tempted.  Her  only  sorrow,  in  regaining  the  shelter 
of  the  Establishment,  had  been  a  sense  of  isolation  there. 
She  had  lost  her  vision  of  the  unity  of  Christians.  She 
had  lost  there  the  feeling  of  one  great  family  of  brethren. 
She  had  been  used  to  think  and  to  speak  of  other  Christians 
as  if  separate  from  her  own  body,  —  if  not  contemptuously, 
at  least  coolly. 

In  that  mood  of  mind,  she  came  to  America,  she  said. 
She  had  chosen  it  as  her  new  home,  for  many  reasons ;  — 
this,  chiefly,  —  that  here  was  a  sister  branch  of  her  own 
dear  Church.  Here  she  could  find  an  altar  and  a  home. 

Here  she  had  found  home  and  altar.  But  he  knew  how 
and  where.  Her  first  welcome  was  from  one  of  the  "  Re 
formed  Church,"  in  New  York ;  her  next,  from  him,  a  New 
England  Independent ;  her  best  friends,  beside,  a  Quaker,  a 
Moravian,  and,  —  as  she  spoke  of  Arthur  Newstead,  — 
a  "  Gome-outer."  The  persons  who  gave  to  her  her  office 
in  the  academy,  Methodist,  Baptist,  and  Unitarian,  appoint 
ing  her  simply  because,  while  she  was  Christian,  she  was 
not  of  their  communion. 

He  might  see,  he  might  have  seen,  she  continued,  how 
all  this  affected  her.  How  she  had  begun  to  think  that  her 
dream  of  the  Unity  of  the  Church  might  be  made  real  to 
her,  by  a  generous,  loving  spirit  in  her  own  heart,  trusting 
those  around  her,  where  she  had  neglected  or  distrusted 
them.  She  had  wondered  whether  her  eyes  had  not  been 
half  closed,  so  that  she  saw  only  as  spots  of  light  those 
points  which,  when  her  eyes  were  open,  she  found  were 
the  salient  points  of  one  finished  picture.  Thus,  an  old 
cherished  vision  had  been  waking  in  her  heart.  It  had  been 
to  her  a  renewal  of  the  dearest  hope  of  glorious  seventeen. 
It  had  come  to  her  at  the  strangest  times,  in  the  most  dif- 


IN   AMERICA.  265 

ferent  ways.  It  had  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  were  in  the  very 
genius  of  America.  It  had  seemed  to  her  as  if  America  had 
been  trusted  by  God  to  teach  the  reality  of  that  vision  to 
the  world. 

Only  she  had  had  one  bar  to  entertaining  this  vision. 
When  it  was  brightest,  that  bar  had  come  blackest  between 
her  and  it,  so  that  she  might  not  hug  it  to  her  heart.  This 
was,  the  fear  that  she  was  going  beyond  her  sphere,  beyond 
a  woman's  sphere,  beyond  the  sphere  of  the  laity,  in  per 
mitting  herself  to  enjoy  thus  calmly,  thus  happily,  such  true 
fraternity  and  kindness  of  Christians  of  every  name.  She 
told  him  how  terribly  she  had  been  impressed  with  the 
guilt  of  schism.  She  said  that  the  recollection  of  that 
guilt,  of  that  term, had  come  before  her  again  and  again;  — 
again  and  again  she  had  asked  whether  friendship  and  love 
were  not  misleading  her  into  her  happy  tolerance,  —  how 
happy!  —  as  friendship  and  love  had  misled  her  once 
before.  Then  she  told  him  how,  two  days  before,  she  had 
tried  to  bring  this  question  to  a  decision,  —  of  her  interview 
with  Mr.  Ross,  of  his  answer  to  her,  and  so  of  her  effort  to 
settle  the  question  for  herself. 

"  But,  after  all,  dear  Mr.  Wilkie,"  cried  she,  "  you  and 
our  own  dear  Church  have  settled  it  for  me ;  —  to  think  of 
your  working  together,  in  God's  hands  !  You,  who  gave  me 
this  Prayer-book,  and  they,  the  faithful  men  who  made  it !  " 
And  she  read  to  him  the  passage  where,  so  simply,  they  sur 
render  any  exclusive  claim. 

"  Now,"  continued  she,  cheerfully,  "  I  go  on  with  my 
reading,  if,  in  my  miz-maze  of  books  here,  I  can  ever  find 
where  to  begin.  But  I  shall  read  with  a  stout  heart, 
instead  of  a  trembling  one. 

"And,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me  how  to  begin,  and  where. 
You  have  read  these  books.     What  shall  I  do  ? " 
23 


266  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  your  '  natural  adviser  '  ?  "  said  he, 
laughing. 

"  Surely  so,"  said  Margaret,  who  was  less  in  the  mood 
for  laughing,  and  to  whom  the  question  had  often  suggested 
itself,  before  now.  "  Surely  you  are.  What  other,  who 
else,  have  I  ?  —  whom  has  God  given  me,  to  take  my  dear 
uncle's  place  ?  " 

"  His  exact  place,  dear  Margaret,  I  shall  never  fill.  I  am 
unlike  him  ;  —  no  one  in  the  world,  indeed,  sees  with  an 
other's  eyes,  or  judges  with  another's  opinions.  But,  pray 
feel,  that  if  the  sincerest  affection  for  you  gives  any  one  a 
claim  to  your  confidence,  you  may  confide  in  me. 

"And,  as  this  matter  where  you  consult  me  is  one  which 
bears,  not,  indeed,  upon  religious  conviction,  but  upon  theo 
logical  opinion,  pray  do  me  this  justice,  dear  Margaret,  to 
see,  that  since  I  have  known  you,  I  have  not  willingly 
attempted  to  change  one  of  the  theological  impressions 
which  you  brought  with  you.  You  did  not  know  it,  but  I 
cautioned  the  girls,  and  my  wife  also,  against  any  such 
attempt. 

"  I  understood  that  you  were  standing  on  the  position,  in 
those  matters,  in  which  Providence  had  placed  you,  without 
caring  or  attempting  to  improve  it.  Such  freedom  from 
care,  such  an  intention,  is  a  perfectly  tenable  stand  to  take ; 
if,  of  course,  it  is  accompanied  by  the  resolution  that  one 
will  leave  every  other  Christian  in  the  same  Providential 
position.  The  moment  you  invite  another  to  leave  his 
place,  that  moment  you  must  be  prepared  to  do  battle  for 
your  own." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  Mr.  Wilkie,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  have 
felt  the  kindness,  the  generosity,  with  which  you  left  me  to 
my  own  ways.  Nothing  has  so  distinctly  shown  to  me, 
what  now  seems  so  easy  to  me,  that  the  unity  of  Christ's 


IN   AMERICA.  26*7 

kingdom  consists,  not  in  uniformity,  but  in  the  interlacing 
and  mutual  support  of  parts  quite  unlike  each  other  to  the 
outward  eye." 

"  As  the  stones  of  an  arch  each  sustain  the  other," 
said  he. 

"  You  will  help  me  read,  then  ? "  said  Margaret. 

"  Yes,  —  and  with  the  same  pride  in  my  own  convictions, 
the  same  interest  in  yours,  as  before.  I  shall  not  help  you 
to  much  of  the  interminable  controversy  in  this  matter  of 
the  appointment  of  ministers.  I  doubt,  after  all,  whether 
you  would  be  long  satisfied  with  reading  which  was  strung 
upon  so  narrow  a  thread  as  that  would  be. 

"  But  I  will  help  you  to  read  some  passages  of  the  His 
tory  of  the  Kingdom  of  Christ,  which  will  help  you  in 
more  ways  than  one. 

"  They  will  show  you  how  absolute  is  the  communion 
between  the  saints  on  earth  and  those  above,  —  between  us, 
in  the  house  of  pilgrimage,  and  those  who  have  passed 
through  it.  They  will  show,  that  is,  —  and  it  will  seem 
strange  to  you,  at  first,  —  how  exactly  our  difficulties  of  heart 
and  of  faith  are  the  reproductions,  in  our  lives,  of  the  strug 
gles  of  the  best  men  and  women  before  us. 

"Again :  your  reading,  if  it  is  fair,  will  show  you  how, 
while  religious  conviction  flows  on,  the  great  Amazon  River 
which  buoys  up  the  whole  action  of  the  world,  the  fashions 
of  theological  controversy  vary  from  ^age  to  age,  attracting 
on  the  surface  much  more  attention  than  does  the  resistless 
flow  beneath  them  ;  though  the  point  of  debate,  two  cen 
turies  ago,  be  one  hardly  spoken  of  to-day,  and  that  most  in 
fashion  now,  one  which  our  fathers  had  never  hit  upon. 

"  Ecclesiastical  history,  or  the  history  of  the  kingdom  of 
Christ,  as  read  in  its  original  books,  or  in  the  books  of  real 
learning,  and  not  in  the  miserable  abridgments  of  the  book- 


268  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

makers,  or  the  frothy  fume  of  the  gladiators,  is  so  attractive 
a  study,  —  so  profitable  to  the  heart  and  conscience,  —  so 
inspiring  to  faith,  —  that  I  cannot  see  why  it  is  pushed  by 
from  most  libraries  and  rooms  of  study.  Least  of  all,  do  I 
know  why  so  few  women,  who  have  time  to  read,  and  are 
seeking  fields  for  study,  enter  upon  it." 

He  smiled  at  his  own  enthusiasm,  and  said,  "  You  must 
have  seen,  from  my  books,  that  this  was  a  favorite  theme  of 
mine. 

"  The  books  themselves  will  show  you  my  way  of  read 
ing.  Catholic  and  Unitarian,  Jesuit  and  Jansenist,  Sceptic 
and  Bigot,  stand  there  peacefully,  side  by  side. 

"  Margaret,  it  is  the  only  way  to  read  history,  —  to  read 
both  sides.  Never  trust  a  book,  never  hold  it  in  your  hand, 
if  the  author  begins  by  saying  he  will  be  neutral.  Throw  it 
instantly  into  the  fire,  or  out  of  the  window ! 

"  To  read  the  history  of  our  own  day,  you  must  read  all 
sides.  You  must  read  Whig  and  Tory  papers,  —  High 
Church  and  Low  Church  pamphlets.  The  moment  a  per 
son  comes  to  you,  and  says  he  will  give  you  the  juste  milieu, 
if  you  will  only  take  his  paper  or  his  pamphlet,  shun  him. 
He  would  tell  you,  as  Lafayette  said,  that  two  and  two 
make  five,  if  only  any  ultraist  had  asserted  that  two  and  two 
make  six.  But  you  would  not,  for  that,  believe  him. 

"  So,  in  history,  read  Lingard,  the  Catholic  historian  of 
England,  and  John  Forster,  who  stands  by  the  Puritan, 
and  you  will  be  where  the  men  of  the  Rebellion  were,  — 
between  two  fires.  Read  a  sham  treatise,  which  professes 
to  steer  clear  of  both  sides,  —  and,  —  poh ! 

"  If  you  follow  my  suggestion,  then,  you  will  read  some 
very  ultra  books,  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other.  You 
will  have  to  form  your  own  opinion.  I  do  not  know,  my 
dear  girl,  for  what  else,  God  gave  you  ability  to  do  so." 


IN   AMERICA.  269 

He  began  to  take  down  and  look  at  some  of  the  books  of 
which  he  was  speaking,  —  putting  marks  in  them,  for  her 
use,  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  am  so  ignorant,"  said  Margaret  to  him,  "  that  I  do  not 
know,  on  this  question  of  an  Apostolic  Succession,  what  the 
other  ground  is,  from  that  which  our  Church  sustains." 

"  O !  wait  a  minute,  dear  Margaret,  and  you  will  see  that 
that  question  is  knit  up  with  fifty  others; — you  will  not 
read,  on  it,  or  any  other  one  question,  without  opening  upon 
the  whole  life  and  history  of  the  particular  time  which 
engages  you. 

"  There  are,  to  be  sure,  volumes,  and  hundreds  of  vol 
umes,  written  on  that  single  subject; — battle-books,  hurled 
between  the  heads  of  your  literature  and  the  men  to  whom 
we  Independents,  or  our  fathers,  looked  up,  in  the  days  of 
fight. 

"  If  you  ask  me  what  I  think,  of  course,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Some  people  do  not  know  what  they  think,"  said  she, 
smiling.  "  Pray,  do  tell  me." 

" I  think,  —  most  Congregationalists  think,  I  suppose,  — 
that  Jesus  left  no  direction  as  to  the  organization  of  his  fol 
lowers.  Where  two  or  three  of  them  were  gathered  together, 
he  would  be  in  the  midst  of  them ;  that  was  all.  He  left 
system  to  take  care  of  itself.  It  would  vary  with  govern 
ment,  temperament,  and  the  social  condition  of  the  brethren. 
He  introduced  new  life  into  the  world.  That  life  would 
form  its  own  systems,  varying  externally,  of  course,  every 
where. 

"So  we  find  that,  in  the  Acts  and  the  Epistles,  such 

arrangements  are  spoken  of  as  the  circumstances  of  different 

places  suggested  and  required.      If  we  were  to  count  up 

names  of  offices  in  the  Church,  we  should  have  not  merely 

23* 


270  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

your  list  of  '  bishops,  priests  and  deacons,'  but  '  apostles, 
bishops,  prophets,  evangelists,  elders,  teachers  and  deacons,' 
and  perhaps  others.  For  instance,  there  are  the  seven  men, 
Stephen,  Philip,  and  the  rest,  appointed  to  attend  to  the 
secular  affairs  of  the  large  brotherhood  at  Jerusalem.  They 
have  no  title  given  them.  It  was  a  body  larger  than  were 
most  of  the  churches,  —  it  needed  peculiar  officers.  Proba 
bly  enough,  no  such  persons  were  appointed  anywhere 
besides. 

"  Then  these  names  are,  several  of  them,  used  inter 
changeably.  The  passage  there,  which  you  show  me,  with 
my  mark,  in  Waddington,  is  simply  what  every  theologian 
acknowledges: — that,  in  the  language  of  the  New  Testa 
ment,  the  modern  distinction  between  bishop,  presbyter  and 
deacon,  does  not  absolutely  hold.  Paul  calls  himself  a 
deacon.^ 

"  And  it  appears,  also,  that  at  different  places,  at  different 
times,  the  duties  of  the  Church  were  exercised  by  whoever 
was  present  best  fitted  to  exercise.  Just  as  you  would  be 
glad  to  have  the  bishop  marry  you,  if  you  could,  but  would 
see  that  the  marriage  was  as  valid,  if  performed  by  Mr. 
Ross ;  so  the  inhabitants  of  Crete,  who  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  had  an  Apostle  among  them,  —  one  who  had 
seen  the  Lord,  —  were  satisfied  to  have  the  evangelist  Titus 
« ordain  their  elders,'  since  there  could  not  be  an  Apostle. 
Paul  and  Barnabas  would  have  been  glad,  I  suppose,  to 
have  been  ordained,  commissioned  to  their  work,  by  Apos 
tles,  of  the  very  friends  of  Jesus ;  but  as  there  were  none 
at  Antioch,  they  accepted  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and 
departed  none  the  less  boldly  to  their  work,  because  com 
missioned  only  by  certain  prophets  and  teachers  there. 

*  Wherefore  I  was  made  a  minister  (<Jtuxovoc)  according  to  the  gift  of 
the  grace  of  God.  Eph.  3  :  7. 


IN   AMERICA.  271 

"In  one  word,  the  distinctions  of  after  times  were  not 
drawn,  —  could  not  have  been,  when  the  churches  were 
only  little  spots  of  light,  planted  round  the  dark  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean. 

"  Well !  as  the  century  wore  along,  —  as  the  company 
of  the  Apostles  departed  to  their  reward,  —  as  around  each 
of  the  little  churches  there  grew  up  clusters  of  churches,  — 
there  came  in,  of  course,  in  that  Providence  of  God  which 
we  call  the  course  of  affairs,  new  exigencies,  and  new  pro 
visions  for  them.  Thus,  on  occasion,  several  churches 
would  wish  to  consult  as  to  affairs  of  mutual  interest.  The 
assembly  of  their  delegates  chose  a  Moderator  over  their 
assembly.  Again,  around  a  large  city  would  grow  up  little 
'  meetings '  of  the  faithful,  too  far  removed  to  attend  regu 
larly  the  ministrations  of  the  central  church.  They  would 
be  glad,  however,  of  the  presence  of  its  minister,  whenever 
he  could  come  to  them ;  and  he  would  be  still  the  overseer 
of  their  affairs,  as  much  as  when  he  was  their  immediate 
pastor.  In  a  University  city,  on  another  hand,  like  Alex 
andria,  the  presence  of  a  large  body  of  learned  men  gave 
another  complexion  to  affairs.  In  a  Jewish  city,  again, 
there  would  be  a  likeness  to  the  old  management  of  the 
synagogues. 

"Where,  in  education  and  political  affairs,  the  people 
were  used  to  a  share  of  power,  there  they  would  exercise  it 
freely  in  the  churches.  Where,  in  other  things,  a  few  men 
of  influence  decided  the  whole,  there  the  churches  would 
fall  into  a  like  arrangement. 

"  This  is  just  what  appears  to  have  been  the  case,  in  the 
end  of  the  first,  —  in  the  second  century,  and,  indeed,  after 
wards.  Different  places  saw  different  customs.  Here  is 
my  mark  in  Dr.  Doddridge,  where  he  says,  — 

"  *  The  power  of  the  bishops  seems  to  have  prevailed  early 


272  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

in  Rome ;  that  of  the  presbytery,  at  Alexandria ;  and  at  Car 
thage,  such  a  discipline  as  comes  nearest  to  what  is  now 
called  Congregationalists.'^ 

"  Jesus  left  no  system ;  and,  therefore,  if  you  appeal  to 
the  Primitive  Church,  so  called,  you  will  find  just  what 
we  find  in  our  own  time,  various  arrangements  suggested 
by  the  needs  of  various  communities. 

"  But  I  had  not  meant  to  deliver  to  you  such  a  lecture. 
I  had  supposed  that  I  could  say,  in  five  words,  what  has 
taken  me  five  minutes." 

Margaret  was  not  unused  to  long  theological  discourse  in 
conversation.  She  told  him  so,  and  begged  him  to  go  on. 

" No !  "  said  he ;  "I  have  given  you  my  own  opinion  as 
to  the  Primitive  Churches.  It  is  natural,  it  is  right  enough, 
I  suppose,  that  we  should  look  with  great  deference  to  their 
habits  and  arrangements.  But,  there,  let  me  say,  dear 
Margaret,  that  I  do  not  believe  that  God  has  so  deserted  his 
world,  but  that  any  of  us  has  just  as  vivid  light  from  him, 
just  as  noble  opportunities,  as  had  any  Clement  or  Augustine 
of  them  all.  I  believe  that  any  one  of  us  has  that ;  and  that, 
besides  that,  we  all  have  the  additional  advantage  of  the 
results  of  the  prayer,  the  study,  and  the  action,  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  through  eighteen  long  centuries. 

"  Now,  read  these  books  on  the  extreme  other  side,  and 
you  will  see  that  there  is  a  very  different  line  of  opinion.  I 
cannot  tell  how  it  happens.  I  cannot  conceive  of  it.  But 
there  it  is,  and  you  shall  judge  of  it. 

"  If  you  come  out  where  I  have  come  out,  you  will 
believe  that  where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  his  Spirit  is  in  the  midst  of  them ;  and  that, 
beyond  that  presence,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  asked  or 
expected. 

*  Lectures,  n.,  354. 


IN   AMERICA.  273 

"  To  use  Mr.  Newstead's  favorite  expression,  all  beside  is 
matter  of  language.  Their  orders,  forms,  arrangements,  will 
be  couched  in  the  way  most  expressive  to  them.  God's 
Providence  will  arrange  that  way,  as  it  arranges  any  of  the 
expressions  of  their  spoken  speech,  fitly,  though  various,  for 
every  time.  That  is  what  I  believe." 

Mr.  Wilkie  proceeded  to  give  Margaret  some  brief  hints 
as  to  what  the  different  books  were  which  she  could  refer 
to;  —  Romanist,  French  and  German  Protestants,  Episco 
palian,  Presbyterian,  Congregationalist,  and  "  Gome-outer." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  girl,  if  you  read  every  day, 
as  you  have  read  to-day,  —  beginning  with  a  faithful  prayer 
for  light,  —  you  will  read  with  profit. 

"  Only,  I  think  that  you  will  soon  be  amused  to  remember 
that  you  began  with  inquiry  as  to  a  form.  You  will  be  so 
much  more  interested  in  the  hearts,  hopes  and  doubts,  — 
souls  and  lives,  —  the  struggles,  temptations  and  dangers, 
of  the  glorious  army  that  has  gone  before  us." 

He  marked,  on  her  list,  long  books,  hard  books,  original 
books.  There  was  not  a  digest  nor  abridgment  among 
them  all. 

"  Always  read  the  originals,  Margaret,  if  you  can. 

"  A  warmed-over  dinner  has  a  good  many  flavors,  which 
you  would  not  have  detected  in  its  originals." 


274  MARGARET     PERCIVAL 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

WITHOUT  printing  a  "  Sequel  to  Margaret  Percival  in 
America,"  we  should  find  it  hard  to  describe  the  steps  of 
her  interest  in  her  new  course  of  reading.  It  was  well  that 
it  began  in  a  vacation.  Afterwards,  she  found  in  it  pleasant 
employment  for  perhaps  two  hours  a  day,  —  one  in  the 
morning  early,  and  one  at  night,  at  Wilton.  And  Mr.  Ross 
told  her,  one  day,  and  Mr.  Harrod  afterwards  confirmed  it, 
that  there  are  very  few  active  professional  men  who  are 
able  to  give  so  much  daily  time  as  that  to  thorough  profes 
sional  study. 

At  first,  Margaret  found  herself  tired,  at  times,  and  lost. 
Often  she  was  surprised  to  see  that  pages  were  spent  on 
questions  of  whose  value  she  could  not  gain  any  idea.  But 
she  made  this,  in  the  end,  a  lesson  to  her  of  the  childish 
ness  of  men's  habits  of  controversy,  when  even  the  deepest 
points  should  be  involved. 

On  the  whole,  the  mental  discipline  and  the  soul-training 
of  this  work  proved  a  great  advantage  to  her.  In  the  midst 
of  dry  plodding,  she  would  come  out  on  an  outburst  of 
hearty,  earnest,  living  devotion,  which  must  have  been 
written  with  the  poor  author's  tears  flowing  over  the  pages. 
And  then  Margaret's  heart  would  warm  again  towards 
those  old  noblemen  of  thought ;  —  they  seemed  so  very  near 
to  her,  that  the  centuries  between  wholly  rolled  away. 

More  good  did  it  do  her,  that  these  accounts  of  struggles, 
hopes  and  fears,  took  her,  so  often,  from  herself,  and  from  a 
morbid  habit  of  analyzing  too  closely  her  own  life.  Some 
times  she  found  the  very  parallel,  in  Carthage  or  Alexan 
dria,  centuries  since,  of  what  she  had  thought,  in  her  own 


IN    AMERICA.  275 

life,  a  wholly  unheard  of  trial.  Then  she  found  strains  and 
tortures  such  as  she  had  not  conceived  of,  —  beyond  her 
own  entirely ;  so  that  any  experience  of  hers  sunk  to  noth 
ing  in  the  comparison. 

Best  of  all  was  the  sense,  which  forced  itself  upon  her, 
of  the  integrity,  the  real  heart,  of  these  men  whom  she  was 
reading.  There  was  hardly  one  of  them,  —  if  there  were 
one,  —  Pelagian,  Semi-Pelagian,  Athanasian,  Arian,  Here 
tic  or  Catholic,  in  whom,  when  Margaret  came  home  to  his 
own  life,  she  did  not  find,  as  the  first  element,  an  earnest 
effort,  an  humble  waiting  upon  God,  which  charmed  her, 
and  commanded  her  reverence. 

She  asked  Mr.  Wilkie  how  this  was.  And  he  told  her 
that  the  selfish  men  had  not  been  able  to  keep  their  heads 
above  the  waves  of  so  many  centuries ;  —  that  few  men  had 
ever  had  power  to  form  opinion  in  the  Church,  who  had  not 
prayed  and  believed,  —  who  had  not  wrought  with  an 
effort  to  gain  the  highest  power,  somehow,  in  their  labors. 

More  and  more,  therefore,  did  Margaret's  reading,  of 
many  months,  bring  her  to  see  and  believe  that  it  is  one 
God  which  worketh  all  in  all ;  — to  reverence  his  power  of 
commissioning  servants  so  different,  in  creeds  so  wide,  in 
languages  so  unlike,  to  his  one  work  of  uniting  the  world,  — 
not  into  a  unit,  —  but  into  a  brotherhood  of  love. 

One  day,  as  the  spring  approached,  this  feeling  grew  so 
strongly  upon  Margaret,  that  she  felt  that  it  would  be  un- 
sisterly  not  to  express  it  to  George,  though  she  felt  how 
much  it  would  pain  him.  For  she  remembered  the  very 
different  feeling  she  had,  in  the  days  when  they  were 
together,  —  the  days  before  he  was  ordained,  of  her  printed 
biography. 

After  writing  to  him  a  letter,  which  was  but  an  "outside 
letter,"  —  a  letter,  which,  as  somebody  said  to  somebody, 


276  MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

might  have  been  pasted  upon  a  bulletin -board,  —  she  went 
on: — 

"Dear  George, — you  see  that  all  this  about  the  village 
and  the  school  is  not  really  what  I  have  at  heart.  Do  not 
be  shocked,  but  I  must  make  to  you  a  confession. 

"  You  know  how  exclusive  a  l  Churchwoman '  I  came 
here.  Dear  George,  I  cannot  use  that  word  as  I  used  to. 
I  cannot  feel  that  our  dear  Church  is  the  only  Church,  — 
nay,  that  I  have  any  right  to  call  it  the  best  Church.  It  is 
one  among  sisters.  George,  won't  you  forgive  me  for 
thinking  so  ?  I  cannot  feel,  I  do  not  feel,  that  these  kind 
friends, — that  the  Wilkie  family,  of  which  I  wrote  you, — 
that  that  Moravian  minister,  —  that,  —  oh  !  you  know  how 
many  diversities  of  worship  there  are,  —  I  cannot  feel,  as  I 
once  felt,  that  these  people  endanger  themselves  at  all. 
They  love  their  forms,  as  we  love  ours.  And,  —  George, 

—  surely  God  is  ;  —  He  is  with  us  now.     Can  it  be,  that, 
if  there  were  any  danger  in  worshipping  him  in  forms  so 
wide,  an  immense  land,  like  this,  would  be  given  over  to 
that  danger,  —  left  to  be  settled  by  this  very  Independency ; 

—  left  now,  in  all  its  West,  to  be  enlightened  by  the  sim 
plicity  and  heart  of  those  Methodist  preachers,  if  they  led 
to  danger  and  schism  in  religion  ? 

"George,  I  shall  always  be  an  Episcopalian!  But  I 
know  Anna  never  will  be,  nor  Gertrude,  nor  Hester,  nor 
one  in  ten  of  my  friends  here.  And  what  I  feel,  —  what  J 
know,  —  is,  that  it  makes  no  difference  whether  they  are,  or 
are  not.  They  enlarge  their  lives  by  God's  spirit,  —  they 
help  me  enlarge  mine.  That,  each  in  her  way,  is  what  we 
are  trying  for ;  and,  George,  I  know,  as  I  know  God  is,  that, 
if  we  keep  on  trying,  we  shall  help  each  other  in  heaven. 

"  Do  not  be  dreadfully  pained.     I  am  not  afraid  to  write 


IN   AMERICA.  277 

this,  because  you  are  my  own  dear  brother.  I  am  happier 
since  I  have  felt  this.  I  am  stronger.  The  highest  author 
ity  of  the  Episcopal  Church  here  permits  the  feeling ;  and 
I  hope  to  see  the  day  when  all  Christians  shall  leave  any 
quarrels  about  forms,  to  keep  thus  the  unity  of  the  Spirit  in 
the  bond  of  peace. 

"  You  will  write  kindly  to  me,  won't  you,  George  ?  Do 
not  forget  that  Margaret  would  not  have  written  this  to  you 
without  prayer,  —  without  feeling  sure  she  was  right,  — 
and  that  she  never  will  have  one  secret  from  you. 

"  Why,  George,  you  cannot  think  how  many  signs  of  this 
coming  unity  in  diversity  we  see  here.  We  are  to  take  a 
sleigh-ride  to-morrow  to  a  village  called  Mons  Christi, 
where  there  are  every  sort  of  people,  all  living  in  this  cath 
olic  love,  with  one  minister  and  one  church,  —  a  foretaste 
of  what  shall  be  in  the  larger  world.  We  are  to  go  and 
see  this  Reverend  Mr.  Evelyn,  and  his  wife,  Margaret,  if  we 
can  only  find  the  way  there. 

"  This  is  the  reason  I  write  the  day  before  packet  day. 
The  Wilkies  tried  to  go  last  winter,  but  could  not  find  the 
place.  We  go  while  the  snow  lasts,  because  the  ride  is  so 
much  easier. 

"  So,  good-by,  George  !  You  will  write  to  me  kindly,  I 
know.  Do  not  write  hastily. 

"And  pray  do  not  pity  me  ! 

"  For  I  am  happier  than  I  ever  was  ;  —  and  always  your 
loving  sister,  MARGARET." 

As  it  happened,  Margaret  need  not  have  been  so  anxious 
about  her  letter  to  George. 

The  packet  passed  on  the  ocean  the  mail-packet  from 
England  which  had  one  from  him  on  board,  in  which  he 
said :  — 

24 


278  MARGARET    PERC1VAL 

"I  send  you  some  books,  dear  Margaret;  read  them 
carefully.  They  are  not  such  as  we  read  at  dear  Uncle 
Henry's  knee  ;  but  they  are  such  as  our  men  are  writing 
to-day,  as,  one  by  one,  they  swing  back  from  Newmanism. 

"Here  are,  FRANCIS  W.  NEWMAN  on  the  Soul:  her 
Sorrows  and  Aspirations ; 

"  J.  A.  FROUDE'S  Nemesis  of  Faith :  the  book  which 
was  made  notorious,  beyond  its  intrinsic  worth,  because  the 
authorities  burned  it  at  college ; 

"And  FRANCIS  NEWMAN'S  Phases  of  Faith. 

"  Do  not,  dear  Margaret,  accept  any  desolate  notions  from 
them.  Do  not  think  I  do.  Do  not  take  an  opinion  from 
them  because  it  is  in  them ;  but  let  them  make  you  think, 
and  develop  your  own.  Most  of  all,  in  truth,  do  I  send 
them  to  you,  that  you  may  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
your  dear  brother  George,  whom  you  educated,  dear  Mar 
garet,  for  the  ministry  of  our  own  Established  Church, 
should  feel,  now,  that  we  used  to  limit  quite  too  much  God's 
ways  of  acting.  Margaret,  if  you  hear  that  I  have  given 
up  my  cure,  do  not  think  I  have  given  up  my  faith.  Only 
think  that  it  has  grown  brighter  and  wider ;  and  let  these 
little  books  that  I  send  you  show  you  that,  in  the  midst  of 
us  here,  is  an  influence,  whose  voices,  I  think,  are  still  crude 
and  stammering ;  —  but  to  which,  dear  Margaret,  God  help 
ing  us,  we  will,  in  the  end,  give  a  voice  and  a  life  which  shall 
break  down  all  walls  of  division,  and  show  to  all  angels  the 
reunited  army,  of  the  various  companies,  in  various  uni 
forms,  with  various  arms,  of  the  great  army  of  the  Living 
God! 

"  Dear  Margaret,  you  will  love  me  more  than  ever,  if  that 
could  be,  now  that  I  give  you  this  idea  of  the  trials  of  feel 
ing  I  have  gone  through.  But  do  not  think  I  am  faithless, 


IN   AMERICA.  279 

or  cold,  or  that  I  have  not  more  heart  for  the  ministry  of 
Christ  than  I  ever  had  before. 

"  And  so,  God  bless  you  and  yours,  ever. 

"  GEORGE." 

"  God  be  praised !  "  said  Margaret,  "  God  be  praised !  " 
She  read  the  letter  again  and  again ;  and  hardly  a  day 
passes,  that  she  does  not  take  it  from  its  hiding-place,  to  look 
upon  its  manly  words. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

IT  was  spring,  —  a  most  lovely  morning  of  blossom- 
snowing  spring.  Gertrude  stood  at  the  long  window  that 
looked  upon  the  lawn  at  Elmwood.  With  her  was  Eliza 
Spenser.  They  were  watching  Agnes  and  Lizzie,  who 
were  planting  seeds  in  the  garden  border. 

"Another  year,"  said  Gertrude,  "has  passed  away! 
With  me  there  has  been  such  a  change  as  has  passed  over 
trees  and  flowers.  There  has  been  a  decay  of  the  old  way 
of  life  ;  then  a  dead,  dreary  winter,  without  hope,  without 
faith.  Alas!  I  had  no  pure  snow  garment  wherewith  I 
might  clothe  the  deadness  and  barrenness  of  my  heart! 
Then  came  the  spring,  —  new  hopefulness  and  elasticity. 
What  will  another  year  bring  forward?  Another  winter, 
—  more  dreariness  ?  " 

"  O,  do  not  say  so !  "  said  Eliza ;  "  do  not  let  us  venture  to 
look  forward  with  such  a  thought !  Indeed,  the  sight  of  the 
present,  with  all  its  duties  and  calls,  is  quite  as  much  as  I 
can  bear  to  see  !  " 

"  Last  spring,  I  felt  very  strong,  in  my  own  power.     In 


280  MARGARET   PERCIVAL 

the  summer,  came  my  illness,  that  showed  me  my  weak 
ness.  Then  it  was  I  read  of  Margaret  Percival.  I  was 
attracted  by  her  eagerness  and  earnestness.  I  fancied,  too, 
she  had  found  repose,  —  a  faith  that  she  could  dwell  in, — 
a  way  of  life  that  was  plain,  and  easy,  and  happy.  I  see, 
now,  what  Anna  meant,  when  she  said  she  thought  Marga 
ret  Percival  was  not  a  person  to  be  happy  under  constraint. 
She  has  an  independent  spirit,  that  is  striving  to  be  free." 

"  And  yet,  during  her  life  in  England,  she  seemed  anxious 
to  follow  the  lead  of  others." 

"  But  I  believe  she  would  have  freed  herself,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  interposition  of  others.  For  instance,  had  she 
been  left  to  herself,  I  do  not  believe  she  would  ever  have 
become  a  Roman  Catholic.  She  believes  that  it  was  her 
Uncle  Sutherland  that  saved  her  from  such  a  step,  —  such 
a  sin,  as  she  considers  it.  Would  it  not  have  been  happier 
for  her,  if  she  could  have  worked  her  own  way  through  ? 
What  a  sad  restraint,  indeed,  it  was,  to  transfer  her  faith 
merely  from  Father  Andrea  to  her  Uncle  Sutherland !  But 
I  forget  you  have  riot  seen  Margaret  Percival,  and  have  not 
the  new  feeling  of  personal  friendship  to  add  to  the  little 
interest  that  arose  from  reading  the  book  of  her  life." 

"  What  you  have  said  to  me  of  her,  since  I  have  been 
with  you,  has  given  me  a  fresher  interest  in  her  than  the 
book  gave  me." 

"  It  is  the  seeing  Margaret  Percival  in  America  that  has 
awakened  me  to  the  mistakes  in  her  education.  Hers  is 
an  active,  inquiring  spirit,  that  has  been  bound  down  into 
dependence.  Now  that  it  has  been  necessary  for  her  to 
break  away  from  these  supports,  I  see  her  weak,  uncertain 
where  to  turn.  She  has  lost  her  habit  of  judgment,  though 
she  has  such  natural  strength  of  mind.  In  myself,  I  can 
see  the  evil  of  another  extreme.  As  I  have  said  to  you,  I 


IN    AMERICA.  281 

was  sadly  dependent  upon  myself,  formerly.  The  last  year 
has  taught  me  how  much  I  need  the  strength  that  I  can 
draw  from  others.  How  many  different  persons  have  this 
year  helped  to  influence  me  !  The  joyous,  happy  home  of 
the  Wilkies  gave  me  so  much  strength  and  encouragement ! 
It  was  in  a  Catholic  church  I  breathed  the  first  true  prayer 
my  heart  ever  formed.  It  was  too  unutterable  for  words, 
yet  I  felt  it  mount  upwards  towards  God.  It  was  at  Aunt 
Clara's  death-bed  that  there  came  to  me  a  visiting  of  true 
faith,  the  hope  of  a  truer  life.  And  all  around  me  has  been 
breathing  the  influence  of  Anna's  upright  and  strong  char 
acter.  She  bears  within  her  the  source  of  cheerfulness  and 
of  strength.  With  her,  life  is  not  merely  to  do  nobly,  but 
to  be  pure  and  holy,  strong  in  herself  and  for  others  !  Mar 
garet  Percival's  energy,  too,  awakened  me,  or  helped  to* 
rouse  me.  My  image  of  her,  as  I  read  of  her,  was  as  of 
the  statue  of  some  saint,  standing  with  arms  across  her 
breast,  immovable." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  love  the  saints,  if  they  are  so  immov 
able." 

"We  are  more  excited,  more  inspired,  by  a  character  that 
is  constantly  growing.  This  I  have  learned  lately,  and  I 
am  not  sure  but  it  is  true,  what  Mr.  Murray  said,  the  other 
day,  that  there  is  more  glory  in  the  stamp  of  'faciebat'  than 
of  'fecit.'  In  the  one,  there  is  promise  of  something  to 
come.  There  is  this  glory  in  beginning  anything,  —  I  used 
to  long  to  finish  something." 

"  Helen  Pearson  said,  the  other  day,  to  me,  in  speaking  of 
my  wedding-day,  « That  will  be  the  end  of  you.'  It  sounded 
very  strangely  to  me,  for  I  have  always  looked  upon  it  as  a 
fresh  beginning.  All  my  life  long  I  have  been  merely  veg 
etating.  Lately  I  have  had  opened  to  me  a  new  way  of 
life,  and  I  am  rejoiced  that  there  comes  this  new  era  to 
24* 


MARGARET    PERCIVAL 

strengthen  my  fresh  resolutions.  When  I  enter  our  little 
cottage  home  here,  with  my  marriage  vow  fresh  upon  my 
lips,  how  earnestly  shall  I  promise  myself  to  keep  from  it 
all  that  shall  stand  in  the  way  of  a  Christian  life !  That 
new  home!  How  earnestly  shall  I  consecrate  it  to  holy 
works  and  thoughts  !  " 

"  I  remember  Mr.  Wilkie,  as  we  came  home  from  Balti 
more,  spoke  to  me  of  the  enthusiasm  of  new  converts.  I 
think  he  feared,  when  the  newness  of  my  resolutions  should 
pass  away,  my  zeal  would  grow  cold.  He  said  that  this 
fresh  enthusiasm  we  ought  to  allow  every  new  day  and 
hour  to  awaken ;  —  that  the  variety  of  opportunities  offered 
us  helped  to  do  this.  Our  observance  of  Sunday  is  a  great 
help.  It  might  be  to  each  of  us  a  new  consecration  of  our 
selves  to  God.  There  is,  besides,  the  new  birth  of  nature  in 
spring,  the  solemnity  of  its  decay  in  autumn,  and  the  rising 
of  the  suri  each  day.  With  you,  there  is  indeed  a  new  era ! 
How  much,  too,  we  can  do  for  each  other,  to  influence  one 
another !  I  have  to  thank  the  year  for  a  better  knowledge 
and  appreciation  of  you." 

"  It  was  my  fault  that  we  did  not  know  each  other  better. 
I  had  heard  so  much  of  you,  that  I  was  afraid  of  you,  and 
so  I  could  not  express  what  little  there  was  in  me  that 
might  attract  you.  And  now,  how  much  we  have  to 
thank  you  for,  and  Mr.  Ashton!  Mr.  Murray  is  very 
grateful  to  Mr.  Ashton  for  his  helping  hand.  And  then, 
to  you  we  owe  the  discovery  of  our  little  cottage  so  near 
you ! " 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  of  gratitude,  Eliza,  for  you  remind 
me  of  the  duties  that  you  took  up,  which  I  neglected. 
Agnes  and  Lizzie  were  my  sisters,  but  you  were  sisterly 
towards  them.  I  shall  be  constantly  running  down  the 
avenue  with  the  children.  We  shall  burst  in  upon  you, 


IN  AMERICA.  283 

and  interrupt  all  your   nicely  laid   plans   for  housekeep 
ing!" 

"Ah,  yes,  you  will  give  me  a  new  impulse,  and  a 
new  life,  that  will  rouse  me,  and  break  up  the  formality, 
the  regularity,  of  my  ways.  But  what  can  I  do  for 
you  ? " 

"  1  have  been  leading  such  a  sad,  chaotic  life !  1  have 
begun  so  many  things,  and  finished  nothing !  You  shall 
help  me  in  these  beginnings.  You  shall  bring  order  into 
my  tangled  maze.  You  must  teach  me  to  have  more  fixed 
hours  of  study.  Indeed,  Eliza,  there  is  no  end  to  the  good 
we  may  do  each  other. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  Cornelia  Lester  was  to  become  a 
Sister  of  Charity  ?  How  different  are  our  ways  of  life ! 
Perhaps  that  may,  indeed,  be  the  true  life  for  her.  She 
had  an  exalted,  enthusiastic  way  of  thinking  and  acting; 
and  she  found  little  sympathy,  in  this,  in  those  around 
her." 

"  Agnes  and  Lizzie  are  talking  as  earnestly  as  we  have 
been.  Now  they  are  approaching  the  house." 

"  They  are  earnest  about  their  seeds ;  —  a  few  weeks  will 
decide  the  fate  of  their  flowers.  We  have  this  life  and 
another  to  await  our  ripening." 

"  But  Margaret  Percival !  Will  her  American  life  change 
her  form  of  belief?" 

"  I  think  not.  I  doubt  if  she  would  be  happier,  now,  in 
any  different  form  of  belief.  Her  associations  are  woven  in 
so  strongly  with  this,  that  she  would  not  be  happy  to  remove 
herself  from  them." 

"  And  is  there  any  probability  of  her  marrying  Arthur 
Newstead  ? " 

"I  should  have  thought  it  impossible,  a  little  while 
ago.  It  would  create  a  great  change  in  the  way  of  life 


284  MARGARET    PERCIVAL   IN   AMERICA. 

of  each.  Margaret  would  have  much  more  to  suffer, 
before  she  could  decide  upon  such  a  step.  It  would  truly 
be  a  new  beginning  in  life  for  her.  Far  from  Helen 
Pearson's  idea,  marriage  would  be  a  beginning,  rather 
than 

THE    END    OF    MARGARET    PERCIVAL." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall 


INTER-HBRAR^ 


LOAN 


DEC  7    1968 


LD  21A-60w-7,'66 
(G4427slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


